


coming home

by the_misfortune_teller



Series: Of Letters and Love and Everything in Between [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Derek Hale, Bottom!Stiles Stilinski, Derek and Cora start bonding, Derek and Stiles write each other, Derek gets healthy, Epistolary, First Time, Letters, M/M, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Top!Derek Hale, Top!Stiles Stilinski, and being actual brother and sister, and text each other, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misfortune_teller/pseuds/the_misfortune_teller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“This is it,” He adds, coming to a halt outside a dilapidated looking building. “Third floor, with the fire escape. That’s us.”</i>
</p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>~</b>
  </p>
</div>After they leave Beacon Hills, Derek takes Cora back to New York City, to the apartment he and Laura once called home.
            </blockquote>





	coming home

**Author's Note:**

> _i've been away,_
> 
> _searching for a reason,_
> 
> _another purpose to find._
> 
> _i've sailed the seas,_
> 
> _fought my many demons,_
> 
> _i've looked to gods in the skies._
> 
> _**coming home ~ avenged sevenfold** _
> 
> **\- - -**
> 
> Sort of sequel to ['living in your letters'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/952238); this actually overlaps with the timeline of that story and the follows on from where 'living in your letters' left off. It can be read as a stand-alone, but it's probably best if you read 'living in your letters' first, as some parts of this might not make sense without it; the actual events of 'living in your letters' take place maybe a third of the way through this if that helps.
> 
> This takes place immediately after Derek and Cora leave at the end of 3a but completely ignores the events of 3b. Partly because I started writing it before 3b started, and partly because 3b makes me sad as hell!
> 
> Please read the notes at the bottom for warnings and headcanon stuff. Fanks!
> 
> _I'm re-uploading this (with a slightly different title) against my better judgment. I took this down earlier today because I'm not sure if I'm really happy with it, despite spending so long working on it. I've had a lot of people messaging me though saying they were looking forward to reading it so have elected to put it back up, even though seeing it on my AO3 dash is making me feel pretty stressed. Please don't think this is me asking you to blow smoke up my ass and tell me how great this is, because it's anything but. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm being childish over this; I'm mostly trying to look out for my own mental health. And please don't think the new title means I like A7X - I don't!_

“What’s it like?” Cora asks, fidgeting and yawning in her seat. They’ve been on the road for nearly sixteen straight hours and Cora’s nagging, combined with the start-stop traffic they’ve been stuck in for the last two hours is almost making him wish he hadn’t bothered leaving Beacon Hills.

“It’s an apartment,” Derek replies shortly. “It’s not that different from the loft. Two bedrooms though.”

“How come you kept paying rent on it if you weren’t living there?”

“I never planned on going back and staying,” Derek tells her. “I thought I’d find Laura and convince her come back.”

Cora snorts and mutters something under her breath, something that sounds remarkably like ‘yeah, right’. Derek doesn’t reply, but feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, because Cora isn’t wrong: if Laura had set her mind to something, there was no way Derek would have been able to convince her to do otherwise.

She goes quiet for a bit, alternating between messing around with her phone and gazing out the window in poorly disguised wonderment.

“So is all your stuff still there?”

Derek nods, leaning forward in his seat and rolling his shoulders to try and ease some of the tension that’s settled in to them.

“What about –” Cora continues as she glances over at him. “Laura’s stuff?” Her voice is more timid as she asks that, and she looks away from him, toying with a strand of hair.

“Her friends put a lot of it in storage,” Derek replies slowly as they finally turn onto their street. It hasn’t changed much; the building looks a little shabbier, and the Chinese takeout place down the street seems to have turned into a deli, but it still feels like home, even after a year away. Mr Rabinowicz from the neighboring building is shuffling down the sidewalk in his slippers, and Derek can’t help but smile at the sight of him. He’d sort of assumed that Mr Rabinowicz would have passed away by now, looking, still, like he’s two hundred years old.

“This is it,” He adds, coming to a halt outside a dilapidated looking building. “Third floor, with the fire escape. That’s us.”

**:::  
**

The first thing Derek does when they get into the apartment is flop down on the couch, stretching out luxuriously as he listens to Cora poking around the apartment, throwing open the window in the kitchen to let some fresh air into musty room. He hears her open the bedroom doors, his first, from the sound of it, and then Laura’s. He doesn’t want to think about what it must look like now, doesn’t know how much of her stuff her friends put into storage after he’d called them to tell them what had happened, hasn’t really spoken to any of them since then. There’s a loud thunk as Cora drops her bag to the floor before padding back through the lounge and into the kitchen.

“So can I ask you something?”

Derek doesn’t open his eyes, or even lift his head off the couch. He loves this couch. He’s missed this couch. As he shifts into a more comfortable position, he thinks idly that he might have missed this couch even more than he missed any of the people he once considered friends.

“Derek,” Cora says sharply, sticking her head through the doorway to the kitchen.

“What?”

“What’s with all these stupid dinosaur toys?”

He looks up at that and sees her clutching a cheap looking toy, waving it at him for emphasis. He’s not entirely sure what sort of dinosaur it’s meant to be.

“Laura’s.”

“No they’re not,” Cora replies indignantly. “No way did Laura hoard kids toys.”

“Well they’re not mine.”

Cora makes a scoffing noise as she goes back into the kitchen, returning a minute later and batting at his feet in a futile bid to make him move. He opens one eye and glares at her until she goes and settles in the recliner.

“What was Laura like?” She asks after a long moment of silence.

“You know what she was like.”

“No,” Cora huffs, “I didn’t. Last time I saw her I was eleven, remember?”

Derek does remember. Derek’s never going to forget that it’s his fault Cora never got to know Laura or Joseph as people. Never got to be anything besides a slightly bratty eleven year old to their parents. Finding Cora again has reopened a lot of wounds the fire left, wounds that had only just started to scab over.

“She was Laura,” Derek says at last.

“Was she a good alpha?”

“Better than me,” Derek replies slowly. “Not as good as Mom, I guess.”

Cora smiles wanly at that, curling up in the chair and hugging her knees against her chest.

“You think she’d mind me sleeping in her room?”

Derek props himself up on his elbows and looks over at her; she’s chewing on her thumbnail nervously as she stares down at the floor.

“You were her favorite. She’d want you to have her room.”

“You don’t want it?” Cora asks. “It’s bigger than the other bedroom.”

Derek shakes his head and lies down again, toeing off his sneakers and letting them drop to the floor. “She wouldn’t want me in her room.” He doesn’t add that he doesn’t want to even look in Laura’s room yet.

**:::**

It takes him a week and a half to work up the nerve to look at Laura’s old room; he waits until Cora has gone to the grocery store down the street to sneak in and look around, feeling like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be.

He isn’t entirely sure if he’s relieved or not when he sees how different the room looks. Laura’s huge world map is still over the bed, all the pins she pushed into it marking the places she’d been or wanted to go still in place, but nearly everything else has gone; there’s just a few books left on the shelves along the wall. It looks altogether too tidy and sterile to have ever been Laura’s room.

In fact, the only thing that makes the room looked halfway lived in is Cora’s clothes, draped haphazardly over the end of the iron bedstead, the way Laura’s always were. He crossed the room, standing in front of the map and running his fingers lightly over the clusters of pins.

“What do they mean?”

Derek startles, spinning round to see Cora standing behind him: it’s been a very long time since anyone has snuck up on him and he’s annoyed that it’s Cora that’s managed to do it.

“Red ones are where we went after we left Beacon Hills,” Derek tells her, following the trail of pins that wander east across North America with the tip of his pointer finger. “The white ones are where she wanted to go.”

Cora comes to stand next to him, dropping her purse down on the bed and looking up at the pins. “She wanted to go to a lot of places in Europe, huh?”

Derek nods, deciding not to tell her that Laura had been talking about a trip to Europe with her friends right before she ended up going back to Beacon Hills. It’s just one more thing that Peter stole from her.

“You guys went to Boise?”

“Only for a few weeks. Why?”

“No reason,” Cora replies quickly, turning away from him. Derek doesn’t miss the look on her face or the little shift in her heart rate but doesn’t push it. He figures she’ll talk to him about where she was for the last six years when she’s ready.

**:::**

“That guy’s looking at you,” Cora mutters to him in an undertone as they slowly move up the line in the deli. Derek doesn’t look up from his phone, frowning as he tries to make sense of the barrage of texts he’s just received from Stiles. It’s only when Cora elbows him sharply in the side that he glances up to see what she’s talking about.

“Who?”

“That guy right there,” Cora points across the deli in an incredibly unsubtle manner towards the stools in front of the window where, yep, a guy is openly staring at him. It takes him a few minutes to realize it’s Anton staring at him, one of the only people with whom he bothered to keep in touch while he was back in Beacon Hills.

“Wait here.”

He slips out of the line before Cora has a chance to argue and crosses the small shop. He can’t quite seem to return the huge smile Anton is giving him, but tries anyway and lets himself be pulled into a hug.

“Derek, Derek, Derek,” Anton laughs when he finally releases him, keeping his hands on Derek’s biceps as he takes a step backwards to look at him. “You sly bastard. You should have said you were coming back, man! We could have had a get together!”

“We might not be back for that long,” Derek replies, trying to shrug off Anton’s hands, before realizing that it seems rude and stopping abruptly.

“We?”

Derek nods towards where Cora’s standing still standing in line, looking slightly confused, but mostly angry.

“Who’s the girly?”

“She’s our – my sister,” Derek replies, dropping his gaze when he corrects himself; it’s hard to stand here talking with Anton and not remember that the last time he saw him was when they’d all stayed up all night after going to the Knitting Factory for Derek’s birthday, sitting out on the fire escape despite the fact that it was early November and barely ten degrees out . “My younger sister.”

“She looks just like Lau,” Anton says quietly, glancing in Cora’s direction. Derek’s grateful that Anton doesn’t question why neither he nor Laura ever mentioned Cora the whole time they were living in Brooklyn.

Being talked about is clearly too much for Cora and she storms out of the line and over to where they’re standing, glaring at Derek until he introduces Anton to her.

“You knew my sister then,” Cora demands, watching Anton with a quizzical expression on her face. Derek coughs, using it as an excuse to hide a smile behind his hand; Anton looks a little taken aback by Cora.

“Um, yeah. We, uh, used to go out,” Anton replies.

“You mean you took her to Coney Island one time and didn’t tell her it was a date,” Derek retorts, without thinking.

Anton laughs good naturedly, pushing his hair away from his face. “Hey, I won her a plush toy. It was totally a date.”

“You and Laura dated?” Cora asks, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Derek wonders if she’s more bothered by Anton’s dreads or the tattoo on his throat that he can see her eyeing disapprovingly.

“Kind of?”

“And by kind of, he means no,” Derek says quietly.

“What was she like?” Cora continues urgently, cutting Anton off before he can say anything else. Derek catches the subtle glance and frown in his direction, but Anton doesn’t query it. “Derek won’t talk about her.”

“She was great,” Anton replies after a moment’s thought. “Everyone loved her.”

He looks over at Derek again, tapping his finger against his lips and narrowing his eyes.

“What?”

“You still on South Ninth?” Anton asks as he leans down to grab his bag from beside his chair. Derek nods, wedging his hands in his jacket pocket. “Maybe I’ll swing by some time, if that’s good with you man?”

“Sure,” Derek shrugs as Anton shoulders his bag and turns towards the door. He heads back towards the queue, resigning himself to another fifteen minute wait before he gets his sandwich. Cora fidgets beside him, clearly desperate to ask questions; he ignores her and pulls out his cell to distract himself, pretending that he doesn’t notice the way she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet.

**:::**

“Are all your friends here weird?” Cora demands roughly fifteen seconds after Derek has closed the apartment door.

“Anton isn’t weird.”

“Derek, he has a tattoo of a _bee_ on his neck. That’s not normal.”

“He likes bees,” Derek shrugs, pushing past her as he heads towards the kitchen. He hears Cora flopping down on the couch and hurries back through to the lounge, glaring at her until she sighs dramatically and moves to the recliner.

“Not even other bees like bees enough to get a bee tattoo on their neck,” Cora continues as she unwraps her sandwich and picks a piece of tomato off the waxed paper. “How can anyone like bees that much? All they do is make honey and sting people.”

Derek suddenly has a very vivid mental image of Stiles; thinking that he’d have been breaking out his phone and reading out everything he could find about bees if he’d heard what Cora just said.

“So are they all weird?” Cora asks again, jolting Derek out of his Stiles-related thoughts.

“Who?”

“Your friends. Are they all weird?”

“They’re Laura’s friends,” Derek replies after a moment. “Not mine.”

“Bee Tattoo seemed like he was your friend.”

“He’s the only one I kept in touch with. Well, him and this girl Nessa.”

“So is she weird?”

“No.”

“I bet she’s weird. What does she do?” Cora asks as she kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs.

“She makes films,” Derek shrugs.

“She’s probably weird,” Cora states bluntly and decisively as she takes a huge bite out of her sandwich, scowling at Derek when he stretches his leg out and kicks her in the knee.

**:::**

They’re sitting around the apartment for what feels like the millionth Saturday night in a row, Cora perched on the windowsill that leads out to the fire escape watching people pass by below, Derek sprawled out on the couch.

“Is this what you and Laura used to do?” Cora asks with a sigh. “Sit around and not talk?”

Derek tears his attention away from his cell, setting it face down on his chest and looking over at her. “No.”

“What did you do then?”

“I don’t know. Have people over. Go out.”

“So why can’t we go out?”

“Because you’re underage and I don’t want to.”

“You must have been underage though,” Cora complains, turning her head and staring down at the street below again. “When you first came here.”

Derek shrugs. “That’s not the point.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” Cora huffs, pulling her knees up against her chest.

“So go out,” Derek snaps. “I’m not stopping you.”

He hears her muttering under her breath but ignores her in favor of picking up his cell phone and reading his messages again. Stiles started sending him a series of texts, each one a different fact about giraffes. Apparently, Stiles is still affronted that Derek told him that, in a roundabout way, giraffes are his favorite animal. The last text that he got simply read “giraffes are dumb”. Before he can respond to it, there’s a knock at the door and looks over at Cora sharply, seeing the same confusion he’s feeling reflected on her face. He quickly rolls off the couch and crosses the room, pressing his ear against the door and listening to the relaxed heartbeat on the other side. It sounds vaguely familiar and he tentatively pulls the door open as far as the chain will allow, his worries immediately dissipating when he sees Anton in the dimly lit hall beyond.

“Hey.”

“You going to ask us in then, man? Or did you leave your manners back in Cali?”

Derek glares at him half heartedly for a moment before pushing the door closed and unhooking the chain. Anton grins at him as he pushes his way into the apartment, followed by the last person Derek was expecting to see.

“Robb,” He mutters with a nod. Robb, or Big Robb as Laura used to call him, was always exclusively Laura’s friend and Derek can’t remember even one single time when he hung out with the guy without Laura present.

“We brought photos,” Anton continues, making himself comfortable in the recliner. “Well, Robb brought photos at least. Thought –” he turns towards Cora and flashes her a quick smile “ – Cora, right? Might want to see them.”

Derek shrugs, settling back on the couch and leaving Cora to introduce herself to Robb. She clearly wants to see whatever it is Robb and Anton have bought and is leaning forward eagerly as Robb digs in his bag. Derek can’t help but notice the odd expression that crosses Robb’s face as he shoots sidelong glances in her direction.

Anton tries to drag him into a conversation as Robb hands a stack of photographs to Cora. That always was Robb’s thing, taking photos. Derek hated it, because he never felt able to truly let his guard down around Robb’s camera least his eyes flash and give them away. Laura loved it though, loved playing up for the camera.

Derek glances over at the picture Cora is currently staring down at; it’s Laura, laughing at something off camera, her chin resting on the heel of her hand and her eyes scrunched up. From the empty space and the way her hair is whipping around her head, strands caught on her fingertips, it looks like it was taken at Coney Island. There’d been a place on the boardwalk that they used to hang out, all of them. It breaks Derek’s heart to look at the picture because it’s _so_ _Laura_.

There’s other pictures too, ones that make Cora laugh out loud, particularly when she comes across one that Derek doesn’t even remember being taken; she turns it round for him to see and he groans loudly when he sees himself and Anton wearing matching make up, thick lines of black smeared across their cheekbones; he can’t remember why there was make up, or where they had gone that make up seemed appropriate. He tries to remember who’s idea make up had been in the first place but finds he can’t remember that either.

“You never told me you were in a shitty emo band,” Cora says with a laugh, moving across to the couch and sitting on the arm next to Derek, bumping his bicep with her elbow. He scowls up at her and takes the picture from her, staring down at his younger self; it feels like a completely different life time, like Brooklyn and going out and smiling openly at cameras with makeup smeared across his face happened to someone else entirely.

He passes it back to Robb after a moment, not wanting to look at it anymore, not wanted to be reminded of that version of himself.

“Huh.”

Cora sounds more amused than surprised and Derek stares down at the floor, not wanting to know what’s caught her attention this time.

“Something else he didn’t tell you?” Robb asks with a small smile.

“I’ll say,” Cora replies, holding the picture out for Derek to examine. At first he’s not really sure what’s so interesting about it; it’s just a picture of Laura and some girl that she was friends with, all bottle blonde hair and raccoon eye makeup. Derek can’t remember her name, thinks it might have been Jenny, or Jeanie maybe. Something beginning with J. Laura had too many friends in too many parts of town to keep track of them all; New York had been a complete departure from everywhere else they’d been, had been the first time they’d settled and actually made friends with people.

“That’s just some girl Laura was friends with,” Derek says offhandedly. He’s fairly certain he hooked up with her at some point in the past, thinks she was the girl he fucked in an alleyway behind Union Pool one night.

“Yeah, because I was totally talking about little miss Trashy,” Cora replies, throwing in a dramatic eye roll for good measure. Derek scowls at her and she glances at Anton and Robb. “Um. Sorry.”

“She was kind of trashy,” Anton shrugs, moving towards the window and taking Cora’s recently vacated seat on the sill.

“Still is kind of trashy,” Robb contributes. “Just trashy out near Chicago instead.”

“Whatever,” Cora replies dismissively, “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about this,” She thrusts the picture in Derek’s face and points towards the top corner. Unusually, for Robb’s photos of Laura, he’s in the picture too, slightly out of focus over his sister’s left shoulder. Kissing another guy.

“So what?” He challenges, glaring at Cora when she quirks an eyebrow.

“Just surprised, I guess,” She replies after a beat. “Like he said, just one more thing I didn’t know about you.”

“Really?” Derek asks, quirking an eyebrow. Cora did nothing but drop hints about Stiles, about how Stiles like _likes_ him, how Stiles was always his favorite, for the first three days of their drive across country. Since then, he’s assumed that she knows he’s not straight, and just hasn’t felt the need to actually mention it. Cora watches him for a long minute before turning her attention back to the photos in her hand.

“Lau’s rule about smoking still stand?” Anton asks as he pulls a soft pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and taps it against his thigh, breaking the uncomfortable silence that has settled over them all. Derek nods and gestures towards the window, heading into the kitchen as Anton and Robb climb out onto the fire escape.

“He looks like Boyd,” Cora says quietly from the doorway. “That Robb person.”

“I guess,” Derek hazards, leaning on the counter and trying to force himself to calm down. It’s getting too much, all the photos and stories of Laura, just reminds him that she’s not here anymore and that if she was, they certainly wouldn’t have been sat around the apartment doing nothing on a Saturday night. He’s definitely not in the right frame of mind to start paying attention to how Robb does bear more than a fleeting resemblance to Boyd. Boyd is something they still don’t talk about, no matter how much Cora tries; Derek isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to talk about Boyd. About what he did to him.

“Derek?” Cora asks, sounding almost timid. “Do I really look like –” her voice wavers slightly “– like Laura? Only they both keep saying that and –”

Before she can finish, they’re interrupted by the sound of Robb and Anton talking quietly on the fire escape and both go quiet immediately.

“Dude, he’s gotten weird,” Derek can hear Robb saying in between drags on his cigarette. “Well, weirder. He was already weird, you know.”

“He wasn’t _weird_ ,” Anton replies slowly. “And are you really surprised that he’s quieter? After what happened? You know he _found_ Lau, right? As in found her body?”

Derek looks anywhere but at Cora as they both wait for Robb to answer that. Out of the corner of his eye, he can just see the pained expression on Cora’s face, like she wants to say something sympathetic but doesn’t know where to start.

“I get that,” Robb continues, and Derek hears the sound of the metal fire escape groaning, presumably as he shifts his weight. “I really get that, OK? But you honestly don’t find it weird? That he’s shown back up like nothing happened and with some kid sister in tow? You ever hear him or Lau mention a sister before?”

“Come on man, that’s not fair. They never really talked about their family, either of them.”

“To you maybe,” Robb mutters darkly; that’s quickly followed by the scrape of a cigarette being extinguished against the rusted railing. Derek steels himself and heads back into the lounge, reaching out and squeezing Cora’s shoulder as he passes her, a move that surprises him almost as much as it surprises her.

After another half hour of Robb and his photos and talking non-stop about Laura, Derek gives up and goes to bed, not caring anymore if he looks rude.

**:::**

Cora’s out on the fire escape when he gets up the next morning, still leafing through the pile of photographs that Robb left for her and Derek watches her for a moment, watches as she traces the lines of Laura’s face as she smiles down at the photo in her hand.

“How come you never talked about me to your friends?” She asks, not taking her eyes off the picture.

“We didn’t talk about anyone,” Derek replies after a moment. “It was too hard.”

“I talked about you,” Cora says in a small voice. “All the time. About you, and Laura, and Mom and Dad. About everyone. I didn’t forget.”

“You think we forgot about you?” Derek asks; even to his own ears, it sounds harsher and blunter than he meant for it to, and after several uncomfortable moments of staring at each other, Cora scrambles off the fire escape and barges past him, slamming out of the apartment before he can say another word.

**:::**

****

**:::**

From Stiles – 20:32  
 _Srsly derek? Tell her to talk to me? Are you actually eight? I’m not your go-between._

To Stiles – 20:33  
Fine. Forget it.

From Stiles – 20:33  
 _I don’t get how I can help. I want to, cause you’re right, she’s not being fair but i can’t rly do much about that._

From Stiles – 20:37  
 _you ignoring me now? that’s, um, ironic_

To Stiles – 20:50  
you said you don’t want to help.

From Stiles – 20:51  
 _omfg. i'm having flashbacks to last summer. Hey there Throwback Thursday derek + your ‘if you’re no use to me, i’m not going to acknowledge your presence’ dickbag shenanigans_

From Stiles – 20:53  
 _if you can write me a letter, write her a fucking letter. tell her you didn’t forget about her or whatever it is you want to tell her._

From Stiles – 20:55  
 _how are you still this much of a jackass????_

To Stiles – 21:04  
I do still want to talk to you.

From Stiles – 21:04  
 _huh?_

To Stiles – 21:05  
You said I didn’t want to talk to you. I do.

From Stiles – 21:07  
 _good to know :)_

From Stiles – 21:07  
 _btw, keeping that message as proof, so next time you bust out asshole-Derek, i can remind you that you want to talk to me._

To Stiles – 21:09  
fine

From Stiles – 21:10  
 _so you’re going to talk to her, right? Or write it down for her? cos i'm getting both sides of your ridic Hale dramas here, ya know?_

To Stiles – 21:11  
What?

From Stiles – 21:13  
 _Think you’re the only one who writes me/texts me? Cora called me the other day._

To Stiles – 21:14  
And you couldn’t have mentioned that before?

From Stiles – 21:15  
 _you didn’t ask._

To Stiles – 21:16  
yes. I’ll talk to her. If she’ll listen.

From Stiles – 21:18  
 _she will_.

From Stiles – 21:19  
 _Crisis averted? Or do you still need help on how to talk to your little sister? Only some of us have important internet shit to do_

To Stiles – 21:20  
Research? Everything OK?

From Stiles – 21:23  
....

From Stiles – 21:24  
 _I, uh, guess you could call it research._

From Stiles – 21:24  
 _the other thing i use the internet for ;)_

From Stiles – 21:26  
 _later dude x_

Derek stares down at his cell for a moment, feeling his cheeks color when he suddenly realizes what Stiles means. He’s not entirely surprised that Stiles is essentially letting him know that he’s going to jerk off, having overheard him talk about doing just that several times in the past. He’s also not really that surprised by the effect it has on him, either, feeling himself starting to get hard at the thought of Stiles touching himself. Without really thinking about what he’s doing, he lifts his ass off the bed and tugs down the zipper of his jeans, pulling them low on his hips and sliding his hand down the front of his underwear.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, biting down on his bottom lip as he spills over his fist. And it’s only afterwards, when he’s wiping his hand on a tissue that he starts to feel guilty about what he’s just done, because he and Stiles are just friends, no matter what Cora might hint, or whatever feelings he might be trying to pretend he doesn’t have towards Stiles and he’s fairly certain that he’s just crossed some kind of line.

He kicks off his jeans before throwing himself back down on the bed and burying his face in the pillows, hoping that’ll make the guilty feeling go away.

**:::**

They eventually talk a few days later. Derek still can’t quite bring himself to speak about Laura, about everything that happened after the fire and Cora still refuses to talk about where she was for the last six years but at least things start to get back to what passes for normal between them.

“Can I have that Anton guy’s number?”

Derek looks up from the sink and frowns at her. “Why?”

“Because neck tattoos and white guy dreads really do it for me,” Cora replies, deadpan as she throws him the hand towel so he can dry his face. “Because I need to ask him something.”

“What do you need to ask him that you can’t ask me?”

“Why do you care?” Cora asks, stepping to one side so he can leave the bathroom.

“I don’t care. I just want to know.”

“Fine. You said when we came here that Laura’s friends put her things in storage. Anton was her friend, right? I figured he’d – I want to see her stuff. See what she was like.”

Derek looks at her for a moment, at the nervous but expectant look on her face and sighs loudly, padding towards his bedroom and grabbing his cell from amongst the sheets, scrolling through it and finding Anton’s number before holding it out to Cora.

He plainly hears her snort of laughter as he heads back into his room to grab a shirt from the drawer, and sticks his head back out into the hallway, pulling his shirt down over his chest as she looks up guiltily.

“You ever text anyone besides Stiles?”

Derek lunges forward and snatches his phone back from her, shoving it into his pocket as he scowls at her.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Read my texts?” He grits out as he folds his arms across his chest. “Every time you go near my phone, you read my messages.”

Cora shrugs unabashedly as she spins her own phone between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know. I just do. What do you care anyway? What’s so bad about me knowing that you’ve been texting Stiles? I know you write each other all the goddamn time.”

“Because they’re _my_ messages,” Derek snaps. “They’re private.”

“Yeah, because it’s really important that no one knows Stiles doesn’t like any of the Wolverine movies,” Cora grouses as she walks away from him and grabs her coat from the hooks beside the front door. “I know why you’re being so weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“If you say so,” She replies, shrugging on her coat and frowning at him. “And I bet Stiles would claim _he’s_ not being weird either if I asked him.”

“I thought you were leaving,” Derek hears himself saying, gesturing towards where she has her hand on the doorknob.

“You can keep denying it if you really want,” Cora sing songs as she pulls the door open. “We both know what this ‘don’t read my messages’ thing is really about.”

Derek snatches a throw pillow from the couch and hurls it at her, feeling deeply unsatisfied when she slips out of the door and the pillow rebounds off the back of the door and falls to the floor with a sad ‘thwumping’ sound.

That just pisses him off even more.

**:::**

Anton turns up at the loft again on his birthday, promising Cora that he’ll talk to Robb about getting the key for the storage unit. This time he’s got Nessa in tow, and she leaps on Derek the minute as she’s through the door, her thick hair tickling his nose as he stiffens at the contact.

They’re there, apparently, to take him out to do something _fun_. Derek point blank refuses to go. He’d rather not have acknowledged his birthday at all and only put up the three cards he received because Cora insisted. Anton laughs at the Batman and Winnie the Pooh cards wedged behind the frame of the mirror, pulls them down and raises his eyebrows at Derek as he reads the messages inside them.

“Don’t take her to the Bowery,” Derek hisses to Nessa as Cora disappears into her room to change.

“We don’t go there anymore,” Anton assures him. “It got boring.”

“Yeah,” Nessa adds as she takes a seat on the couch. “No one hooking up with certain skeevy club owners in the bathrooms and creating ridiculous amounts of drama.”

Derek gives a derisive snort at that. “That was one time.”

They leave, eventually, an excited, chattering Cora in tow, leaving Derek in blissful peace and quiet. He makes the most of the lack of distraction and carries on reading the book Stiles has been telling him about in his letters. He almost gives up half way through when he realizes the main character is probably meant to be Baldur, that there’s a version of Loki in the book. Those names flash him right back to being trapped in the elevator with Jennifer, of having to listen to her try and excuse her actions, to try and win him back over.

In the end, he perseveres with the book, figuring that if Stiles likes it, it must be OK.

**:::**

“Are we ever going to talk about the Stiles thing?”

“What Stiles thing?” Derek sighs, keeping his attention fixed on the screen of his phone.

“Your thing. For Stiles,” Cora clarifies with a wicked grin.

“I don’t have a thing for Stiles.”

“Yeah? So why are you writing him all the time? And texting him. And getting that stupid dreamy look on your face just because I’ve said his name.”

Derek doesn’t have an answer for that, and does the next best thing he can think of; he rolls off the couch and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

Talking about ‘his Stiles thing’ would mean acknowledging to Cora that he does in fact have a _thing_ for Stiles and he’s not ready to do that just yet.

**:::**

He ends up vaguely acknowledging his Stiles _thing_ , his feelings towards Stiles, sometime between his birthday and Thanksgiving, to Nessa. He bumped into her down by the ferry terminal on Kent Avenue which leads to coffees in a bright and colorful coffee place where the staff all seem to know Nessa and keep shooting him intrigued looks.

“So your little sister is a real trip,” Nessa grins as she lazily stirs her drink; some concoction involving coffee and condensed milk that smells too sickly sweet even for Derek's sweet tooth. He’s just finished putting his seventh sugar into his own coffee and screws up his nose in distaste when Nessa begins to drop sugar cubes into her drink.

“I guess you could call her that.”

“There’s no point me telling you that you should have come out with us last week, is there?”

“No.”

“People miss you, Derek,” She tells him gently, taking a sip of her coffee while she watches him intently.

“They miss the old me,” Derek replies shortly. “I’ve changed.”

“And don’t we all know it,” Nessa responds, covering the back of his hand with her palm and giving it a quick squeeze. Derek immediately bristles at the contact, his gaze snapping up to meet hers, ready to yank his hand away, to challenge her. Only, he doesn’t. He notices the concerned expression on her face for the first time and forces himself to relax, letting her stroke her thumb against his for a moment. “We all go through shit, Derek. We’re all different now than we were last year.”

She lets go of his hand and takes another sip of her drink before setting it down so she can rest her chin on her hand and stare at him.

“Cora said you’re going to Argentina soon,” Derek mumbles, fiddling with the wooden stick he’d used to stir his coffee.

Nessa nods enthusiastically, and with that, she’s off on a roll, telling him all about the work she’ll be doing down in South America, about how she feels like her mother might just be proud of her for ‘the first time in forever’.

“So who’s the guy?” She asks over her second glass of coffee and condensed milk.

“Excuse me?”

“Cora. She said something about you liking some guy you met out west.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Derek bluffs, feeling his cheeks heat up as he blushes.

“Sure she doesn’t, sweetie,” Nessa smiles, bumping her knee against Derek’s own. “What’s he like?”

“A complete pain in my ass.”

“Yep, that sounds about right for you.”

Derek remains resolutely quiet, scowling over his coffee at her until she sighs dramatically and changes the subject; talking to other people around his age always feels weird to Derek, because they’re all moving on with their lives and doing things that adults are apparently supposed to do. He’s only half listening to Nessa as she starts listing off people she knows that have gotten married or had babies, and nearly chokes on his coffee when she laughingly tells him that the guy he fucked in a club bathroom one time, the guy who’d been dating one of Laura’s bratty friends from Manhattan, is now married to the aforementioned bratty friend and has a child with her.

“They didn’t split up after –”

“After you let him fuck you in the bathrooms?” Nessa replies, her eyebrow arching in what Derek feels is far too judgmental a manner. “No.”

“Not really sure you’re in a position to judge,” Derek mutters as he finishes the dregs of his coffee. “You went there too.”

“Ugh, who didn’t?” Nessa groans, scrunching her nose in disgust. “At least I had the decency to go there in a bed not a bathroom stall.”

Derek shrugs indifferently; he’s not ashamed of what he’s done in the past, who he’s slept with and where he chose to do that.

**:::**

He gets a letter from Stiles the day before Thanksgiving, the envelope thicker than Stiles’ usual affair; when he sits down on his bed to read it, shoving his feet under the blankets, he discovers that there’s two letters in the envelope, not one, with the words “read this one first, and then maybe just throw the other one out I don’t know why I sent it” scribbled across the outside of one of them.

He folds the letter back up and shoves it back in the envelope before picking up the other note, the one he apparently should just throw straight in the trash. The paper is slightly crumpled and Stiles’ writing in the second letter is scruffier than usual, like he was in more of a hurry to get whatever it is he needs to say down on paper, and Derek starts to frown almost as soon as he starts to read.

Derek carefully refolds the second letter, smoothing it out on his knee before replacing it in it’s envelope as well. He stares down at the blanket covering his legs for a moment before reaching for his cell phone.

To Stiles – 16:47  
I read your letter. Both your letters. Are you OK?

From Stiles – 17:01  
 _you know me. Fine. Always fine._

From Stiles – 17:02  
 _I’d be seriously grateful if you could just throw those letters in the trash and pretend you never read them._

To Stiles – 17:04  
If you were fine, you wouldn’t have wrote me that stuff

From Stiles – 17:10  
 _This doesn’t sound like you’re pretending you never read them…._

To Stiles – 17:11  
shouldn’t have written them then.

From Stiles – 17:12  
 _I was drunk??_

To Stiles – 17:15  
Are you asking me that or telling me?

From Stiles – 17:17  
 _telling you. I was drunk. Didn’t mean what I was saying_

To Stiles – 17:18  
Why were you drinking?

From Stiles – 17:32  
 _Because my life is crap. Haha._

To Stiles – 17:33  
Why is your life crap?

From Stiles – 17:35  
 _youre a regular chatty cathy today. Or questioning cathy I guess. Questiony Quincy._

To Stiles – 17:35  
Stiles. Answer the question.

From Stiles – 17:37  
 _why my lifes crap? You’ve met me, should be easy to work out. Got no friends. My dad thinks i'm going insane. Or that im dangerous or something._

From Stiles – 17:40  
 _fucking awesome, no?_

To Stiles – 17:42  
you’ve got friends. You said it in your letter. Me and Cora.

From Stiles – 17:51  
 _Yeah. Cos the best place to have friends is 3000 miles away. Feels real awesome._

From Stiles – 17:56  
 _Plz just forget it. I feel stupid enough knowing that you read that crap._

To Stiles – 17:57  
I’ll stop asking/talking about it if that’s what you really want.

From Stiles – 17:59  
 _thanks man._

To Stiles – 18:01  
Not going pretend you never told me tho

From Stiles – 18:04  
 _dick._

From Stiles – 18:19  
 _bet you think I’m being a brat, don’t you?_

To Stiles – 18:21  
Why would I think that?

From Stiles – 18:25  
 _bitching cos I have to go to thanksgiving dinner. Because I’m arguing with my dad. Kind of pales in comparison, you know?_

To Stiles – 18:35  
You think you’re not allowed to complain about things? Why?

From Stiles – 18:37  
 _like I said, pales in comparison._

From Stiles – 18:38  
 _you know, when you look at what other people deal with/have had to deal with_

To Stiles – 18:40  
You’re being stupid.

From Stiles – 18:42  
 _Probably_

From Stiles – 18:43  
 _I’m pretty good at that_

From Stiles – 18:50  
 _what are you and Cora doing for turkey day?_

To Stiles – 18:53  
Nothing.

To Stiles – 18:54  
I’m doing nothing. Cora will probably go to her boyfriend’s place.

From Stiles – 18:55  
 _You’re going to be all on your own for thanksgiving? That sucks_

To Stiles – 19:00  
It’s just another day.

From Stiles – 19:02  
 _What about all your weird friends?_

To Stiles – 19:06  
What weird friends?

From Stiles – 19:07  
C _ora told me you’ve got weird friends up there. Something about a dude with a wasp tattoo._

To Stiles – 19:10  
Bee.

From Stiles – 19:11  
 _Bzzz_

From Stiles – 19:12  
 _Bee what?_

To Stiles – 19:14  
He has a bee tattoo, not a wasp tattoo. The guy Cora told you about.

From Stiles – 19:16  
 _Weird._

From Stiles – 19:17  
 _So you and apiarist pal can’t do thanksgiving together?_

To Stiles – 19:19  
He doesn’t keep bees. He likes bees.

From Stiles – 19:21  
 _Ten points for knowing what that word means :)_

From Stiles – 19:22  
 _Why can’t you do thanksgiving with him?_

To Stiles – 19:24  
He probably has plans. With his family.

From Stiles – 19:25  
 _:( poor Derek. No turkey for you on turkey day_

To Stiles – 19:26  
I’m sure I’ll survive.

From Stiles – 19:31  
 _I’m happy, you know_

To Stiles – 19:32  
About what? That I’ll survive without turkey?

From Stiles – 19:35  
 _That you’ve got friends up there._

From Stiles – 19:36  
 _Um. That sounded less patronizing in my head. Sorry_

From Stiles – 19:40  
 _You know what’s weird?_

To Stiles – 19:41  
you?

From Stiles – 19:42  
 _Oh ha fucking ha. Aren’t you a riot. Yes me._

From Stiles – 19:43  
 _You know what’s weird besides me?_

To Stiles – 19:45  
What?

From Stiles – 19:46  
 _This is the longest we’ve spent talking in real time since you left_

From Stiles – 19:47  
 _Srsly. You’ve been txting me for like three hours_

To Stiles – 19:50  
And?

From Stiles – 19:51  
 _Nothing, I guess. Just pointing it out._

From Stiles – 19:52  
 _Have we ever actually spent three hours talking to each other before?_

To Stiles – 19:54  
Yes.

From Stiles – 19:55  
 _When???_

To Stiles – 19:57  
Jackson. Pool.

From Stiles – 19:59  
 _you mean when your heavy ass spent two hours bitching at me?_

To Stiles – 20:01  
Yep.

From Stiles – 20:02  
 _Think I prefer this, all things considered_

From Stiles – 20:03  
 _Although I guess there were parts of the pool thing that weren’t 100% horrible_

From Stiles – 20:03  
 _Anyway. Theres things. That I’ve got to do now. talk to you soon??_

To Stiles – 20:04  
Sure

From Stiles – 20:06  
 _I’m gonna send you a hand turkey :))_

To Stiles – 20:07  
That doesn’t surprise me.

From Stiles – 20:08  
 _:D_

**:::**

Stiles does indeed send him a hand turkey, sends one to Cora as well. She tapes the stupid things to the fridge door.

Seeing them every time he goes to get a drink just reminds him of the shape and length of Stiles’ fingers. That just makes him uncomfortable, and makes him think of the time he jerked off to the thought of Stiles jerking off.

It’s not really a thought he wants to address when he’s just trying to get some orange juice in the morning.

**:::**

The days after Thanksgiving pass in a horrible blur. Ever since he sent Stiles the letter admitting that he likes him, he’s been unable to concentrate on anything, so spends most of his time holed up in his bedroom. At one point, he pulled out all the letters Stiles has sent him from where they’re tucked away in his closet and considered tearing them up or feeding them to the garbage disposal. He resists in the end, knowing that he’ll regret it in the long run.

Four days after he sent the letter, Anton turns up at the apartment, apparently at Cora’s request and refuses to leave Derek’s bedroom until he “pulls his head out of his ass and stops sulking”. Derek, in a move that surprises even him, agrees, if only to get Anton to go away.

Which means that when he gets Stiles’ texts, telling him that he’s an idiot for misreading his letter, and that it’s definitely not Danny that he likes, Anton starts questioning him, because he’s, apparently, grinning like a lunatic pumpkin.

Despite a whole lot of cajoling and nagging, he doesn’t tell Anton why he’s suddenly so happy, but does agree to go for dinner with him instead of just going back to the apartment like he normally would. It’s nice. And the jokey text messages he gets from Stiles just as he gets home make him smile even more and for the first time in a very long while, he goes to bed feeling properly happy.

**:::**

He stares at the refrigerator for a long time, arms folded tightly across his chest. There are brightly colored plastic letters all over the door, plastic letters that definitely weren’t there this morning.

Because she’s the second most childish person he knows, Cora has spelled out the word ‘cockface’ across the door.

Derek resists the urge to write something equally childish in response and settles for pushing the stupid magnets round to the side panel of the fridge instead where he doesn’t have to look at them.

He suspects Laura would have liked the magnets.

**:::**

"Can I use your car?"

Derek sets his book down on the arm of the couch and frowns at Cora.

"You can't drive."

"Not for me," she replies as she picks up his book and reads the back cover. "Robb said he'd take me out to the storage place tomorrow. You know, to get Laura's stuff. Like we talked about."

Something must show on his face because she puts the book back down and flops onto the cushion beside him.

"That's OK right? You said I could."

"It's fine," Derek replies tersely, not caring when she raises an eyebrow at the sound of him lying. "Why isn't Robb asking for the car himself?"

"No idea. He just asked me to ask you. So can we? Use it?"

Derek nods shortly as he gets to his feet and pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket, twisting the car key off its ring and throwing it to Cora.

"Thanks."

"Tell Robb he scratches it, he's paying for it."

"I wasn't talking about the car key," Cora says quietly, shoving the key in her back pocket.

Derek shrugs and leans past her to grab his book, heading for his bedroom before she can say anything else.

**:::**

He's sprawled on the couch again when Cora barrels through the door the following afternoon, a battered cardboard box in her arms and Robb trailing behind her.

"You could help," Cora admonishes as she passes the couch on the way back from her bedroom, jostling his shoulder with her foot.

"Looks like you're managing just fine by yourself," Derek replies, shoving her away.

It takes a depressingly short length of time for them to bring Laura's stuff up to the apartment: there's only a dozen or so boxes. It seems like a sad testament to Laura's twenty four short years on earth. He'd have thought there would have been more than this, because Laura was always so much more than this, so much more than a handful of cardboard boxes.

**:::**

Cora wastes no time in carefully opening the boxes, running her fingers over the spines of Laura's books, all her fiction books and travel books, Derek notices. Someone must have made the decision to sell Laura's college textbooks because they're not amongst the jumble in the boxes.

"Can I see that?" He asks suddenly as he looks at the bowler hat Cora's holding in both hands. She nods and passes it up to him, watching him with interest as he turns it over and over in his hands.

"What's the deal with the hat?"

"She stole it," Derek replies with a small smile. "When she went to a Tom Waits show." He runs his fingers over the brim of the hat, over the slightly shiny spot where Laura was always fiddling with it. "She used to tell everyone it actually belonged to Tom Waits, but she took it off a guy on the crowd because he wouldn't get out of her way."

Cora laughs at that, a laugh that's cut off abruptly when Derek impulsively drops the hat onto her head.

"I had - this guy I dated liked Tom Waits," Cora says quietly, running the palm of her hand over the crown of the hat as she roots through the box in front of her. Derek waits for her to continue, but doesn't push it when she doesn't. It's the first bit of information she's really volunteered about her life for the last six years besides basic things like her favorite bands and things she likes to eat. Derek suspects he knows more about the life of the guy that works behind the counter in the deli than he does about his own sister's, a thought which thoroughly depresses him.

"It suits you," he tells her, nodding to the hat and trying to pull himself out of the funk he can feel himself falling into.

Cora grins up at him before turning her attention back to the box, pulling out a book and leafing through it absent mindedly.

He's glad she's happy, even if it's coming at the expense of his own happiness.

**:::**  


**:::**

Derek's actually out for once when his phone beeps, inching his way up the line at Cora's favorite coffee place. How she's got a favorite coffee place so quick is anyone's guess.

From Stiles - 16:01  
 _Got your letter. You ok?_

To Stiles - 16:05  
Yeah

From Stiles - 16:06  
 _Sure about that?_

To Stiles - 16:07  
No. I will be though.  
  
From Stiles - 16:09  
 _You should tell her. If it's bothering you. You should talk to her about it._  
  
Derek glances over his shoulder to where Cora's sitting with Anton and Nessa and some girl he thinks is called robin. She's wearing Laura's hat again, her hair loose and draped over her shoulders, looking every inch the spit of Laura.

As he gets closer to the counter, he overhears someone, a guy from the table behind where they're all sitting, telling Cora he likes her hat.

"Thanks," she replies easily. "It was my big sister's. She stole it from Tom Waits."

He shakes his head and smiles at her words, the old familiar lie about the hat, feeling awkward when he realizes he's reached the top of the line and that the girl behind counter seems to think his smile is aimed at her, blushing and smiling coyly at him as he waits for their drinks. He turns his attention back to his phone so he doesn’t have to look at her any longer as he glances in Cora's direction again before sending a text.

To Stiles - 16:18  
I'll be fine. I promise.  
  
From Stiles - 16:19  
 _You know where I am if you're not. Say hi to lil nightmare from me when you see her next :)_  
  
"You ok?" Cora asks quietly as he sits down beside her and slides her chai latte across the table top.

"Yep," Derek replies shortly. "Stiles says hello."

"Ooh!" Cora flaps her hand to shush her friend Robin and gestures to Derek's phone. "Take a picture of me. He hasn't seen my hat."

 _Laura's hat_ , Derek mentally corrects, just catching Anton's terse smile at Cora's comment. Still, he dutifully snaps a picture of her and doesn't even put up a fight when she snatches his phone from him, telling him that she's just going to text Stiles and then he can have it back.

"Who's Stiles?" Robin asks, glancing from Derek to Cora.

"Derek's jailbait California crush," Cora replies, not looking up from his phone where she's industriously tapping away at the screen. "Only we're not supposed to acknowledge it. His crush."

"Shut up,” Derek snaps heatedly.

Cora sticks her tongue out at him and tosses his phone back across the table, smirking at him when he immediately goes to check what she's sent to Stiles.

**:::**

Anton hangs around after Cora and Robin have left, waving Nessa away dismissively and telling her that he'll catch up with her later.

"So is he?"

"Were we having a conversation?" Derek sighs, pulling the bowl of sugar cubes closer. He's got a very good idea what Anton is talking about and really doesn't want to go there right now.

"We are now. Is he really jailbait, to quote your charming sister?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. Ness told me you like someone back home. Said you were practically glowing when you talked to her about him the other week. She left out the part where he's apparently jailbait."

"He's not -" Derek starts. "I don't - I'm not talking about this. And I don't glow."

"How jailbait?"

"Seventeen."

Anton makes a face and leans back in his chair. "You're not going to go there, right?"

"No. I'm not stupid."

"Sure about that?" Anton grins, raising an eyebrow. "Not going to pull your club bathroom routine on him?"

"No. I don't do that anymore."

"Seventeen Derek? Really? You know you can't go there, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere with anything. a) because he's probably not into me like that and b) his father is the sheriff back home."

"Jesus Christ, this just keeps getting better. And by better I mean worse; you get that, right? You're actually thinking about it, aren't you?"

"No."

"Bullshit," Anton hisses, leaning forward. "If you weren't thinking about it, you'd have just said you weren't going there. None of this oh he might not like me and his father has the ability to arrest me."

Derek doesn't reply, just glowers at Anton because he knows, deep down, that he's right.

"He's the same age as your little sister," Anton continues. Derek doesn't bother to point out that Stiles is actually a few months younger than Cora; as argument strengthening points go, it's definitely not the best.

"Leave it, OK?" Derek mutters at last. "He's a friend, that's all. Yeah, maybe I like him but I'm not going to act on it. I'd rather have him as a friend than not at all."

"Just trying to have your back," Anton says after an awkward pause. He watches Derek as he fiddles with the sugar cubes, trying to stack the irregular shaped lumps so they lie flat in the bowl. "You're so not the same Derek that left last year."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek bristles, shoving the sugar bowl away roughly.

"Come on, you'd have fucked him and ditched him by now a year ago. You wouldn't be pining and having crushes."

"I'm not pining."

"I believe you," Anton grins as he pulls his messenger bag off the back of his chair. “Thousands wouldn’t.”

Derek shrugs in response before gesturing to where Anton is holding his bag awkwardly in his lap.

"I'm good," Anton replies dismissively. "I've got nowhere to be right now. Neither do you,” He adds when Derek starts to pull his jacket off the back of his chair.

“I might.”

“Yeah, but you don’t. What’s little mister jailbait like then?”

“Don’t call –” Derek starts, glaring at Anton.”What do you care what he’s like?”

“Because you’re my friend?” Anton replies with a small scowl. “And yeah, maybe I don’t approve that you’re chasing around after seventeen year old ass, but Cora seems to think he makes you happy, so I want to know about him.”

“Makes me happy?” Derek laughs humorlessly. “He annoys me. He’s a pain in the ass.”

“Isn't that basically the same as being happy for you? Being annoyed?”

“I guess,” Derek replies, ducking his head to hide the smile that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Must be why I like you.”

“Har de har,” Anton says with a grin. “And here was me thinking you got over your thing for me.”

“Trust me,” Derek says, “I did.”

“Aww, Hale, you finally got over your epic crush on me?” Anton laughs. “I’m hurt.”

“You’ll live.”

“I will. And you know, if I ever change my stance on penis, yours’ll be the first penis I come looking for.”

“Consider me flattered,” Derek huffs as he pulls his jacket and gets to his feet. “Is this intervention over now? Only I have things to do.”

“Sure,” Anton shrugs, gesturing towards the door. Derek pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and throws a twenty down on the table to cover his share of the coffees before nodding a goodbye to Anton. As he steps out onto the rain soaked street, he pulls his jacket more tightly around him, frowning when his phone beeps in his pocket.

From Anton – 17:19  
 _Here’s a handy reminder you can keep on your phone in case you have a sudden attack of memory loss over our conversation. Don’t bang 17 yr olds – prison wouldn’t suit you._

**:::**

“Derek?” Cora calls through from her bedroom.

“What?”

“What’s this?”

“How should I know,” Derek replies, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You’re in the other room.”

“You know,” Cora snaps as she appears in the lounge, “sometimes, you can just get up and be helpful instead of being an insufferable douchebag the whole time.”

Derek sniffs dismissively, picking his cell up from the floor and checking it for the four hundredth or so time that hour.

“Why don’t _you_ text _him_?” Cora suggests with a sigh, flopping down into the recliner. “And then you can stop lying around the place being pathetic.”

“What do you want?”

“What’s this?”

He looks over at her, keeping his cell clutched tight in his hand in case she gets it into her head to take it off him and go through his messages again. She’s holding a scruffy looking notepad in one hand; he doesn’t recognize it and assumes it’s come out of one of the many boxes she and Robb brought over from the storage unit. He holds his hand out for it and after a minute pause, Cora passes it over.

Derek sits up a little so he can flick through the book; from a quick glance at the first few pages, it’s patently obvious that it’s an old diary, and from the few names that jump at him from the messy scrawl, it’s from when Laura was in high school. He flicks further through the book, the entries change from long scribbled messages to brief notes with occasional place names or motel names; he doesn’t remember a lot about the first few weeks they spent running from Beacon Hills after Laura turned up and broke him out of the group home CPS had dumped him in after the fire but looking at this, Laura kept a record of it all. It surprises him slightly, because she’d been so cautious about everything, never giving real names or dates of birth, never staying in one place for more than a night or two. It was only when they reached Bozeman, Montana nearly seven months after the fire that they settled down for more than a week, and only when they rolled into New York another two and a half years after that that they actually started to use their real names again. Derek’s lost count of the number of fake IDs he had during those early years.

He skims through another few pages, and sees a mention of himself;

Derek flips to another page, the faded ink of Laura’s words making him feel guilty. He never knew she’d felt that way; she had always seemed so strong, always holding it together while he was falling apart. Maybe that’s why she’d had to be strong, he wonders, because of him. As he thumbs through the crinkled pages, he notices a pattern emerging; there’s no mention whatsoever that would give them away as werewolves, no names either, just initials.

“It’s her diary,” Derek says at last, turning towards the back of the book and skimming through more entries; there’s no place names given, so he’s assuming they were written when they were somewhere for more than a few days.

He closes the book with a loud snap as he reads that, feeling bile rise in his throat when he thinks how bad Laura must have been feeling to even think like that, never mind write it down. That she’d wished she’d died instead of Joseph so he would have been happier. He wonders if it would have made things different between them if he’d ever admitted the truth about the fire. About Kate.

He holds the diary out to Cora, not wanting to even look at it anymore. She takes it cautiously and hugs it against her chest. “There’s more of these. In one of those boxes.” She watches him for a moment, lifting the book so she can press her nose against it, like she’s hoping to catch Laura’s scent clinging to the pages. “Can I read them?”

“You mean you haven’t already?” Derek asks quietly, his voice just this side of accusatory. Reading just those brief sentences has left him feeling shaky and exposed.

Cora shakes her head, biting her lip as she lowers the book. “I was going to,” She admits, “but I stopped when I saw your name. Well, your initial anyway. Do you mind?”

“No,” Derek murmurs at last. He’s sure there’s plenty of stuff in the diary that he doesn’t want Cora to read, doesn’t really relish the idea of her finding out about his extended mental breakdown via Laura’s brief, scribbled entries but figures she’s going to read it whether he agrees to it or not and he might as well save himself the argument that’d inevitably happen if he refuses. “Just – just don’t tell me what’s in them, OK?”

Cora frowns at that, but nods after a pause, flashing him a small smile before she heads back into her bedroom.

He really hopes she pays attention to his request not to be told what’s in the diaries. The two brief entries he’s read are bad enough, and he doesn’t think he could stand hearing anything else that continues in that vein.

**:::**

He comes home one afternoon in December to find Cora showing Anton and Robin pictures of Stiles on her laptop.

"Cute," is Robin's opinion. "For a boy," she adds with a sly smile.

"Kind of twinky," Anton laughs. Derek scowls at him and moves around to the back of the couch to look over Cora's shoulder at the screen. She's got Stiles' Facebook page open and Derek has to admit, in the photo on screen, Stiles does look, to use Anton's words, kind of twinky; it's clearly been taken on the beach, Stiles laughing uproariously at something off camera, ridiculous board shorts sitting slightly too low on his hips and an arm flung around an equally amused Scott's shoulders. He looks younger than Derek's ever seen him and he leans closer to peer at date below the picture.

"That's from three years ago," he huffs, jabbing at the screen with his finger.

"So? He still looks like that now," Cora replies as she scrolls through more pictures, more photos of Stiles and Scott, and occasionally a girl Derek has never seen with them in the time he's known them, laughing and showing off for the camera. They set off a deep ache of guilt in Derek's chest, because he's never seen those smiles on Stiles and Scott's faces, because he only got to know them after Peter barreled into their happy little world and turned their lives upside down.

Cora must pick up on his shift in mood because she quickly closes her laptop, announcing that maybe it is kind of creepy to be looking at a fourteen year old in his bathing suit.

"Derek's right," she adds as she walks towards her bedroom, dropping the laptop onto the bed by the sound of it before returning to the lounge. "He doesn't look like that anymore. Well he does, obviously, but not like a fourteen year old. Show them Derek."

Derek considers calling her bluff for a moment, thinks about pretending he doesn't have an album on his phone full of pictures that Stiles has sent him. He gets his phone out and finds the most recent picture from Stiles; it's from Thanksgiving, Stiles had informed him when he'd sent it, a picture that John took of Stiles, Scott and Isaac crammed together on the couch at Scott's house. Isaac and Scott both look like they're having the time of their lives, hugging each other tightly as they pull faces at the camera. It's kind of obvious though that Stiles' smile is more for show and doesn't quite meet his eyes; he's looking a little uncomfortable where Isaac's pressed up against his side.

"Twinky looks sad," Anton says, taking the phone from Cora and studying the picture for a minute before passing it back to Derek.

"He's not twinky."

"Nah," Cora chimes in. "He's actually kind of not. And he probably looks sad because that's right after he sent Derek a letter trying to tell him that he likes him and Derek totally misread the whole thing and sulked for a week. That's right," she adds, looking directly at Derek. "He tells me things too."

"Great."

"What? He does."

"I said great."

"Hey," Anton asks suddenly, reaching out and putting his hand on Derek's wrist. "You want to grab a beer, man?"

Derek looks at him for a minute, forcing himself not to shrug Anton's hand away and nods. He doesn't really want to go out to a bar but it's better than sitting around listening to Cora talking about what Stiles tells her.

**:::**

They end up at Trophy Bar, Derek nursing his drink in silence as Anton checks out a group of girls near the bar. As he focuses on the music playing, forcing himself not to listen to what the girls are saying about him and Anton, he realizes how freeing it felt back in Beacon Hills, spending time with people who didn't bat an eyelid when he picked up on things he shouldn't physically be able to hear. He starts picking at the label on his bottle, thinking back to all the times he saw Stiles through the summer; all the times he's certain Scott and Isaac have no clue about. It's weird; they never really acknowledge it beyond shared glances when something reminded either of them of it. Stiles always noticed when he heard something a human would never have been able to hear, always watching him inquisitively until Derek either told him what it was or pointed him back to whatever they were supposed to be researching.

"That's a sign that you're sexually frustrated."

Derek looks up in surprise; he's been so lost in his own thoughts that he hasn't noticed that the three girls Anton was checking out have sat down in their booth.

"What?"

"Peeling labels," the girl repeats, gesturing to Derek's drink with her own bottle while she openly stares at him. "They say it's a sign of sexual frustration."

Derek takes another swig of his beer and pointedly ignores her. He's always peeled labels off bottles and has heard the 'sign of sexual frustration' line a hundred times before. It's a cheap come on, the kind he really dislikes. He can still feel her eyes on him and shifts uncomfortably in his seat; she's blocking his exit from the booth which only serves to make his discomfort worse.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" Derek grits out.

"Sexually frustrated. People might be inclined to help out if you ask nicely," she continues, taking a sip of her beer before smiling at him. It's not a particularly nice smile and it stirs an unpleasant sickening sensation in his stomach.

"Not interested."

"You know," the girl says loudly, interrupting the conversation her friend is having with Anton, "your friend is kind of hostile."

"And you're kind of rude," Derek mutters under his breath.

"Aww, leave the man alone," Anton replies jovially. "He's pining." He shoots a quick glance in Derek's direction, mouthing the words 'are you ok?' Derek pauses for a moment before shaking his head slightly. He doesn't like admitting when he's not ok, hates the feeling of vulnerability it leaves him with but right now, he just wants to get out of the bar and away from the girl who's still watching him with a hungry expression.

Dropping his nearly empty bottle onto the table, he gets to his feet and glares at the girl until she takes the hint and moves, letting him out of the booth. He heads towards the door, not bothering to wait for Anton and slams out into the cold night air.

"Derek!" Anton calls after him as he paces towards the end of the street. "Wait up man."

Derek pauses by the street light, shoving his hand through his hair before folding his arms across his chest. He's not really sure why he's getting so worked up, why his pulse is racing like he's just run a marathon.

"Derek," Anton says softly, stepping closer and holding his hands out, like Derek's a wild animal that might bolt at any minute; the irony of that isn't lost on Derek, even now. "You don't have to tell me what this is about, but, just, are you OK?"

"I don't know," Derek mumbles as he stares down at his sneakers.

"OK, I've known you a while now man, and I've seen you pissed off before when you think people are objectifying you," Anton continues in the same quiet tone, "but you look seriously freaked out right now and that's a new one on me and I might not know what's got you like this but, dude, I know you and I know you probably haven't talked to anyone about it and I think maybe you need to."

"I told Stiles," Derek hears himself blurt out. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"I don't think you are fine," Anton says slowly, reaching out and gingerly curling his hand around Derek's bicep. At his touch, Derek feels all the fight go out of him and exhales shakily as his shoulders slump. "Right," Anton says as he moves his hand up Derek's arm to his shoulder, pulling him into a one armed hug. "I'm going to go back in there real quick and grab my coat and then we're going to go back to my place because whatever this is, I don't think you want to talk about it in the street, right?"

Derek nods, once, his forehead still pressed against Anton's shoulder. His familiar scent helps ground Derek and he takes a shaky breath before stepping back and watching Anton as he jogs back towards the bar. He pulls his cell from his pocket to distract himself while he waits.

To Stiles - 23:17  
I keep telling people I'm ok. I'm not ok.  
  
From Stiles - 23:21  
 _You're getting there tho. I'm here if you need to talk? x_  
  
To Stiles - 23:21  
Thanks. X

He hears Anton approaching, of course, but still appreciates how he calls his name like he doesn't want to spook him. They make the ten minute walk back to Anton's apartment in silence; an odd numb feeling has washed over Derek and he wedges his hands deeper into his pockets, trying not to think too much about what Anton is asking him to explain.

**:::**

Talking about it, to Derek's surprise, comes more easily than he expects. He's very cautious of what he's saying, trying to work out how he can possibly explain what happened without using the words 'werewolf' or 'darach' or giving any kind of hint of anything supernatural.  
  
"I met someone when I was back home," he mumbles as Anton hands him a mug of coffee.  
  
"OK."  
  
"Only, she was - she wasn't really who I thought she was," he starts, clutching his mug protectively. "She -" he pauses, searching for a way to describe exactly what she did that would make sense; "- she manipulated me into sleeping with her."  
  
"Manipulated you?" Anton asks with a frown.  
  
"She drugged me, I guess," Derek mumbles; it's the only way he can really describe what Jennifer did to him in a way that's understandable to someone who has no idea about the supernatural. "And had sex with me. And it - I just, I kind of still feel fucked up about it and that girl in the bar, I guess I couldn't handle it. That's all. It's stupid."  
  
"Shit," Anton breathes, the concerned frown on his face deepening.  
  
"It's - it's not a big deal," Derek tells him hurriedly, worried by the serious expression on his face. "I overreacted in the bar, OK?"  
  
"OK," Anton says softly, shifting forward in his seat, his knee knocking against Derek's as he moves. "I'm going to say something to you, and shit, I don't know of it's the right thing to say, but fuck it. If someone you knew was sitting in front of you right now, telling you that someone had drugged them and forced them to have sex with them, what would you say had happened to them?" His tone is gentle, but the words still sound harsh to Derek.  
  
"Rape," Derek mutters, the word making his stomach twist violently. It's a thought that has never occurred to him on all the nights he's lain awake feeling stupid and naive for falling for Jennifer's tricks.  
  
"Did you want to have sex with her?"  
  
Derek shakes his head violently; the whole thing with Jennifer still feels blurry in his head, almost like it happened to someone else at times.  
  
"You didn't overreact and you're not stupid, Derek," Anton tells him. "She took advantage of you. She - are you OK?" He leans forward as he says that, because no, Derek isn't OK. He can feel himself shaking and hurriedly puts his mug on the floor before wrapping his arms tightly around himself.  
  
"I can't talk about this anymore," he mumbles, tensing when he feels Anton's hand on his shoulder.  
  
"OK. That's OK. You don't have to," Anton tells him, rubbing his hand in small circles against Derek's back. "I think you should maybe crash here tonight. So you're not on your own."  
  
"Cora'll probably be home -" Derek says weakly.  
  
"And if she's not? Just stay here dude, you can have the couch."  
  
"But -"  
  
"Shut up," Anton says kindly. "You're staying here and that's final."  
  
Derek shrugs his shoulders, admitting defeat and flops back against the cushions as Anton goes to find some spare bedding for him. He's secretly pretty pleased that Anton has hassled him into staying, because he knows Cora isn't home and he doesn’t relish the idea of going back to an empty apartment.

He's asleep before Anton makes it back into the lounge.

**:::**

Derek wakes up around 4am, disorientated and confused. It takes him a few minutes to remember that he's at Anton's, and as he breathes I the oddly comforting smell of cigarette smoke and the coconut wax Anton uses on his dreads doesn't do much to help when remembers exactly how he came to be sleeping in the couch instead of back in his own bed. The unpleasant churning sensation he felt in his stomach earlier is back and he automatically reaches for his phone, which is digging into his hip where it's wedged in his pocket and after dismissing two missed calls from Cora, peers at the time. It's just after four, which means it just after one back in Beacon Hills, which means Stiles might still be awake.  
  
To Stiles - 04:03  
Are you awake?  
  
From Stiles - 04:07  
 _Yop_  
  
From Stiles - 04:08  
 _*yep. I mite be slightly less awake thn im claiming  
_  
To Stiles - 04:09  
Sorry. Go back to sleep, we can talk tomorrow  
  
From Stiles - 04:10  
 _All good, im awake now. u ok? Its like 4am there right?_  
  
To Stiles - 04:12  
Been better. Woke up and wanted to say sorry if I worried you with that text I sent earlier  
  
From Stiles - 04:13  
 _Ok. You don't have to say sorry thing. Youre allowed to tell me when you're not ok._  
  
To Stiles - 04:15  
That works both ways...  
  
From Stiles - 04:17  
 _Me? I'm peachy. Ish._  
  
To Stiles - 04:19  
What's wrong?  
  
From Stiles - 04:20  
 _You first_  
  
To Stiles 04:24  
Can't, sorry  
  
From Stiles - 04:26  
 _kk. Im not that bad rly, just getting so fucking sick of the douche twins :/_  
  
To Stiles - 04:27  
:(  
  
To Stiles - 04:28  
What are they doing?  
  
From Stiles - 04:35  
 _Existing??_  
  
From Stiles - 04:36  
 _Can I say something to you without freaking you out?  
_  
To Stiles - 04:36  
Don't know. Can you?  
  
From Stiles - 04:42  
 _I really wish you were here right now x_  
  
To Stiles - 04:45  
In Beacon Hills?  
  
From Stiles - 04:47  
 _Well yeah. But here here as well._  
  
To Stiles - 04:50  
With you?  
  
From Stiles - 04:52  
 _Sorry_  
  
To Stiles - 04:52  
Why?  
  
From Stiles - 04:54  
 _Feel like I'm maybe crossing a line saying that._  
  
To Stiles - 04:56  
You're not. What would you do if I was there?  
  
From Stiles - 05:00  
 _Hug the ever living shit out of you probably x_  
  
From Stiles - 05:01  
 _I mean I know I never actually hugged you, but you look like you'd be nice to hug.  
_  
From Stiles - 05:02  
 _Have I crossed a line now?_  
  
To Stiles - 05:03  
No.  
  
To Stiles - 05:04  
I'd like that.  
  
From Stiles - 05:07  
 _Really??  
_  
To Stiles - 05:07  
Why the tone of surprise?  
  
From Stiles - 05:08  
 _Dunno. I know you know I like you and I've got a letter in your hand writing alleging that you like me but you know, you're not here and sometimes I think maybe I imagined that you told me that._  
  
To Stiles - 05:12  
I like you.  
  
To Stiles - 05:20  
Still there?  
  
From Stiles - 05:23  
 _Yeah. Don't know what to say to that._  
  
From Stiles - 05:24  
 _Makes me kind of...nervous, I guess. Knowing that you're apparently foolish enough to like me._  
  
From Stiles - 05:24  
 _Whatever that means..._  
  
To Stiles - 05:26  
Whatever what means?  
  
From Stiles - 05:27  
 _You. Liking me. Like, do you like me in a 'yeah, I probably wouldn't rip his throat out anymore' context? Or like me as a friend? Or...  
_  
To Stiles - 05:30  
I said it in that letter. I like you as a friend, yeah but if you need me to tell you again, more than that too.  
  
To Stiles - 05:42  
Really wish you'd stop going quiet on me. Or have you fallen asleep?  
  
From Stiles - 05:43  
 _Not asleep, processing. Trying to think of how to reply to that..._  
  
To Stiles - 05:44  
Ok...  
  
From Stiles - 05:46  
 _Sorry, guess im just not that well versed in ppl liking me. Especially when I like them too_  
  
From Stiles - 05:46  
 _Not that it rly makes much difference. In fact it's kind of worse. Why couldn't you of decided that you don't actively dislike me while you were still in the same damn town as me???_  
  
To Stiles - 05:47  
I never actively disliked you. You just used to piss me off.  
  
From Stiles - 05:48  
 _I don't piss you off anymore? :D_  
  
To Stiles - 05:49  
Debatable.  
  
From Stiles - 05:51  
 _Oh ha ha. Srsly tho, I wish you were here. Even if I'd be too chicken shit to say any of this to your face x_  
  
To Stiles - 05:53  
Sorry  
  
From Stiles - 05:57  
 _Hypothetically. (Big word for 3am, huh??) if you were in town still, would you do anything about this?_  
  
To Stiles - 05:59  
Big word for 6am too. Honestly? I'm not sure. Would you?  
  
From Stiles - 06:01  
 _Ugh, yeah, it's 6 there...it's like you're in the future! I'd probably try n kiss you if the opportunity ever presented itself. Which'd prob just put you off_ _me, so maybe I wouldn't...dunno, maybe it's better that you're not in town!!_  
  
From Stiles - 06:02  
 _ps why are you still awake at 6am?! Go to sleep! x_  
  
To Stiles - 06:04  
Still awake cause I'm talking to you. Don't want to go to sleep. Really wish I was back on BH now... x  
  
From Stiles - 06:06  
 _If that's because I said I'd try and kiss you, I'm blushing like a total idiot right. If it's not, well clearly I *am* a total idiot_  
  
To Stiles - 06:07  
You're not an idiot x  
  
From Stiles - 06:08  
 _:))_  
  
From Stiles - 06:08  
 _Would u actually kiss me back then? If I kissed you?_  
  
To Stiles - 06:09  
yes x  
  
From Stiles - 06:11  
 _AWESOMESAUCE xx_  
  
To Stiles - 06:12  
:|  
  
From Stiles - 06:14  
 _Too late, you've said it now and I've got proof ;) x_  
  
From Stiles - 06:15  
 _god i really, really, really wish you were here right now._

From Stiles – 06:16  
 _or I was there with you. just some arrangement where we’re both in the same damn place at the same time. Tell New York it fucking sucks._

From Stiles – 06:16  
 _actually, lbr, its BH that sucks. New York is probably pretty rad_

From Stiles – 06:17  
 _have i lost you?_

To Stiles – 06:19  
no, still here. thinking about what you said. About wanting to kiss me.

From Stiles – 06:20  
 _:$_

From Stiles – 06:20  
 _I’d probably do it wrong or elbow you in the face or something. Or piss myself with nerves_

To Stiles – 06:22  
Sounds very attractive

From Stiles – 06:23  
 _doesn’t it! I can see now why you like me._

From Stiles – 06:26  
 _can I ask something that might be line crossy again?_

To Stiles – 06:27  
You’re not crossing lines. Why do you keep saying that? & what?

From Stiles – 06:28  
 _just feels weird being able to ask you stuff and you just answer, instead of doing bitchface!_

From Stiles – 06:29  
 _how long?_

To Stiles – 06:30  
summer.

From Stiles – 06:31  
 _I win then :)) x_

To Stiles – 06:32  
Why do you win?

From Stiles – 06:33  
 _I’ve liked you for longer than that. I win the liking game.xx_

To Stiles – 06:35  
Can I change my mind?

From Stiles – 06:36  
 _Nope. You’ve told me. Its fact now :))_

From Stiles – 06:38  
 _are you still in bed btw? Or have you got up now?_

To Stiles – 06:40  
haven’t been to bed tonight

From Stiles – 06:45  
 _Oh_

To Stiles – 06:46  
I mean I spent the night of a friends couch.

From Stiles – 06:48  
 _how come?_

To Stiles – 06:49  
Didn’t have the best night. He let me crash here.

From Stiles – 06:51  
 _its good you’ve got ppl there that care about you._

From Stiles – 06:53  
 _and for the record, I feel kind of bad now cos I was about to make a crack about how i'd kind of like to be in bed with you. sry_

To Stiles – 06:54  
wouldn’t say no

From Stiles – 06:57  
 _you’re going to be the actual death of me. You can’t just go saying things like that_

To Stiles – 06:59  
Why not? You do.

From Stiles – 07:01  
 _yeah but im an idiot and its four in the morning for me and im mostly running on adderall and some Twizzlers i found in my desk right now_

To Stiles – 07:03  
Go eat some real food x

From Stiles – 07:04  
 _its 4am. cant exactly go and start cooking! plus i'd probably fall asleep on the microwave or something_

To Stiles – 07:05  
Go to sleep then x

From Stiles – 07:07  
 _I mite have to. Don’t want to tho. Want to keep talking to you x_

To Stiles – 07:08  
you can talk to me later

From Stiles – 07:10  
 _yeah ok. Think I will. In a little while. gonna go now tho._

To Stiles – 07:11  
OK

From Stiles – 07:14  
 _i need my hand for other things ;))_

From Stiles – 07:14  
 _goodbye life, it was nice knowing you!_

From Stiles – 07:15  
 _shutting my phone off now befor e I say somet5hing else stupid_

To Stiles – 07:16  
night xx

From Stiles – 07:16  
 _nn xxxxx_

Derek reads and re-reads the last few messages a couple of times, shaking his head in amusement at Stiles’ candor.

**:::**

He doesn’t stick around for breakfast at Anton’s, wanting to get out of there before he can start feeling awkward about their conversation the night before. It’s not that he’s not grateful to Anton, he just doesn’t want to have to rehash what they talked about last night in the cold, hard light of day.

He’s starting to shiver by the time he gets home, his leather jacket doing little to keep out the cold wind that’s howling down the streets. As he climbs the stairs up to the apartment, he thinks idly about how he’ll have to get a proper winter coat again if he’s going to stay here in New York. He wishes he knew what happened to the pea coat he had back before he left last year. He loved that coat.

“You never came home last night.”

Derek looks up in surprise as he pushes the door open and pulls his key from the lock; Cora’s sitting in the recliner, one of the blankets from her bed wrapped around her shoulders; she looks like she’s had even less sleep than Derek.

“I thought you were out all night,” Derek replies as he kicks the door closed behind him and drops down onto the couch.

“Didn’t you get my calls? Or my texts?”

“Battery’s dead,” Derek sighs, pulling his cell out of his pocket and waving it in her direction. “What’s wrong?”

“I – you didn’t come home,” Cora repeats, her eyes downcast as she fiddles with a hole in the blanket she’s got wrapped around herself. Derek recognizes it as the one that used to be on the backseat of Laura’s car, the beloved vintage Ford Torino their parents had given her for her 17th birthday. The one she’d ended up selling a month or so after they left Beacon Hills because she thought it was too recognizable and would bring trouble their way. She’d sold it for far less than it was worth, ended up buying a thoroughly non-descript Toyota Camry which lasted them until the following winter before it died a death somewhere in Nebraska.

“Sorry,” Derek mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Now he’s home, he suddenly feels incredibly tired again and is giving serious thought to going to bed for a good few hours. As he gets off the couch and stands, stretching, Cora drops the blanket from around her shoulders and flies across the room at him. He takes a step back, thinking for one moment that she’s going to hit him, but instead she hugs him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Derek stiffens for a moment before patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “You OK?”

“Being stupid,” Cora mumbles, her forehead pressed against his shoulder. “I got myself in this stupid, idiotic panic that you weren’t coming back. That I’d pissed you off too much.”

“You do piss me off,” Derek laughs shortly, cautiously moving his arm around her shoulder and hugging her for a moment. “But you’re supposed to, right? That’s what sisters do.”

Cora shrugs, letting out a shaky laugh as she reaches up with one hand to wipe at her eyes. Derek takes a small step back in surprise at that; he hadn’t even realized she’d been crying until just then. A few minutes later, Cora steps back too, smiling weakly at Derek as he shifts awkwardly.

“I am grateful, you know,” She murmurs as she goes to sit back down in the recliner, crossing her legs and tucking the blanket around her knees. “What you did for me. I don’t know why I don’t tell you that more.”

“You don’t have to. I know you are. Grateful, I mean.”

“I love it here,” Cora says with a sigh, resting her chin on her hand as she stares out of the window. “But doesn’t it get to you sometimes? All the buildings and noise all the time?”

Derek shrugs as he moves to the windowsill, leaning against it and staring up at the iron grey sky outside. “You get used to it. Eventually.”

“I hated it last night,” Cora replies. “When I was sat here all night. It was all too much, too much noise, too many people talking. Too many heartbeats.”

Derek nods in understanding, because he’s been there before, sat in the dark all night listening out for the one heartbeat he needs to hear and not hearing it. “You want to get out of the city for a bit?”

Cora looks up in surprise before nodding eagerly. “Where?”

“You choose. Let me change my shirt and we can go.”

“So where were you all night?” Cora calls as he pads into his bedroom. “Someone else you like more than Stiles?”

“I was at Anton’s,” Derek replies as he pulls on a clean t-shirt and, after a moment’s hesitation, a hoodie he finds in the back of his closet. Cora’s not in the lounge when he comes back through; from the sounds of it, she’s dragging open dresser drawers in her own room. He crosses to the door and leans against the frame, watching her as she shrugs on a lumpy, oversized cardigan.

“I thought Anton was –” Cora starts, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

“He is,” Derek huffs. “He’s a friend. We were talking, that’s it.”

Cora grins at him as she sits down on her bed to pull on her boots, her long hair falling forward to hide her face. “He kind of reminds me of Stiles, you know? Anton.”

“Because he’s an asshole who never shuts up?” Derek replies with a small smile.

“Pretty much.”

“I can see it.”

“Hey,” Cora asks as she locks the front door behind them and follows Derek down the stairs, “Does that mean you’ve got a crush on Anton too?”

“Not anymore.”

He hears the confused questioning noise Cora makes behind him but keeps walking, smirking slightly to himself as he heads in the direction of the garage where he keeps the car.

**:::**

Cora gets bored of asking questions about Anton and Derek’s former crush on him ten minutes into their drive, losing interest as they enter the Holland tunnel.

Once they’re out of the city and onto the New Jersey turnpike, before following the Hudson north, Derek lets Cora call out directions, taking whichever turns she asks until they’re properly lost.

“Where were you?” Derek asks quietly as they speed along yet another tree lined narrow road somewhere off I-87.

“Hmm?”

“The last six years. Where – was there – did you have someone?”

Cora looks away from him, staring out at the trees flashing past the car. She’s quiet for so long that Derek thinks he might have pushed her too far.

“There was – I had this – family, I guess.” Cora starts, fiddling with the zipper on the side of her boot as she looks resolutely at anything but Derek. “After – after _it_ happened, I ran, and hid, you know, in those tunnels out in the preserve. I went back afterwards, but the house was pretty much all gone, and I just knew you and Laura had gone. So I kept running. Funny thing, state troopers? Not so keen on eleven year olds running down the side of the highway by themselves at night.”

She pauses for a moment, leaning forward to flick off the radio which has been playing nothing but country music for the last hour.

“When I wouldn’t tell them who I was or where I was from, they put me in this group home place,” She continues, a small frown creasing her forehead. “And then, I dunno, I moved around a bunch of places before I ended up with this family, the Milfords. They live just outside Mountain Home. It’s near Boise,” She adds at his confused look. “They were OK, I guess. They never knew though. About you know,” She lets her eyes flash yellow briefly, grinning when Derek smiles at that.

“How’d you end up in the bank?”

That, it would seem, _is_ him pushing Cora too far and she shakes her head before falling quiet, the only noise in the awkward silence is the sound of her drumming her fingers on her knees.

It’s nearly twenty minutes before she calls out ‘left’ as they pass the sign for a cross road.

“I read Laura’s diaries,” She says as Derek takes the left turn. “All of them, you know. You were in a group home too, weren’t you? Right after?”

Derek nods slowly; he’s always tried not to think too much about the couple of weeks he spent in the group home before Laura turned up in the early hours of the morning and broke him out and they took off across the country together. “It was only for a few weeks. Not the same as you.”

Cora nods in understanding, pointing to the right when they reach a fork in the road. She doesn’t ask him anything more, and Derek knows she knows most of it already from reading Laura’s diaries. It’s slightly more comforting a thought than he expects; when he first saw the diaries, and knew Cora was reading them, he hated the idea of Cora finding out about what he and Laura’s life had been like, but now, he’s sort of happy that she knows without him having to explain.

He hope he might be able to one day.

**:::**

They end up at the Ashokan Reservoir, reaching the water’s edge just as the sun starts to set, the sky turning brilliant shades of pink, orange and red over the calm water. Derek walks right down to the shoreline while Cora makes herself comfortable at a picnic bench, sitting in the middle of the table top, her legs crossed and her hands buried in her jacket pockets.

Derek stares out at the water for a long time, feeling calmed by the peaceful stillness. They haven’t seen another person since they got off the road, which doesn’t really surprise him; it’s barely fifty degrees out and even he’s starting to feel the cold. He tugs the zipper of his jacket a little higher before kicking at the rocks that make up the shore. Spotting a perfectly flat one, he bends down and picks it up before launching it across the water, feeling vaguely pleased with himself when it bounces eight times before sinking. He repeats the move several times, so focused on the sound of stone slapping against water that he doesn’t realize Cora has come to stand beside him until she hands him a stone.

“We used to do this on the lake back home, didn’t we?”

Derek nods as he throws another stone, only managing a paltry three skips before it vanishes into the dark water.

“I remember that time Joseph was trying to teach me,” Cora adds, grabbing another stone and rubbing her thumb along it’s sharp edge.

“I remember it taking all day and you still couldn’t do it,” Derek says teasingly, nudging her arm just as she throws the stone. They both watch in silence as it plops sadly into the water.

“Know what else I remember?” Cora asks as she bends down again. “I remember your mean ass pushing me in the water because I was, apparently, ‘doing it all wrong’.”

“You probably were.”

Cora shoves at him playfully, both hands on his arm as she tries to push him towards the water. He evades her easily, stooping to pass her a new stone. “You still can’t do it now.”

“Uh, excuse me, I totally can,” Cora snaps, launching the stone at the water and scowling at Derek when it sinks without a trace. “You gave me a dud rock.”

“If you say so,” Derek replies with a smile. “You’re throwing it at the wrong angle.”

“Your face is the wrong angle.”

He rolls his eyes at that, and goes back to what he was doing, trying not to let Cora’s grouchy little huffs of frustration put him off.

“Do I piss you off? When I make jokes about Stiles?” Cora asks suddenly, putting Derek off his throw.

“Yes,” He replies honestly. “You do.”

“Sorry. If I’m totally honest, it weirds me out a bit, you know? You liking Stiles, him liking you.”

“Because he’s a guy?” Derek asks sharply.

“What? No. Why would that bother me? My best friend is gay, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“She is?” Derek asks with a frown. He hasn’t really noticed much about Robin, other than that she’s tiny and yet, for someone so little, incredibly loud.

Cora nods, looking down at the dirt on her hands and brushing it off against the sleeve of Derek’s jacket. “I, um, I kind of like Stiles too. Liked him, I mean. Story of my life. Like a guy, turns out he wants to bang my brother.”

“Do you still like him?”

“As a friend, sure. No point liking him the other way, is there?”

“Sorry,” Derek says with a shrug, glancing down at the dirt on his jacket and scowling at her.

“Think you’ll ever do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Derek asks her, following her up the rocky beach to the grass beyond. “He’s back home. We’re up here. I can’t do anything about it.”

“Yeah, I totally see your point,” Cora replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Get on a plane and go see him if you like him that much.”

“It’s not that easy –” Derek starts, only to be cut off by Cora glaring at him.

“Of course it is. You’re just scared that if you went back there and tried something it wouldn’t be the same.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. Stiles is worried about the same thing, you know,” Cora replies as she hovers by the side of the car, waiting for him to unlock it.

“How do you know that?”

“Duh,” She replies, yanking the door open and sitting sideways on the seat so she can pull her boots off. “He told me.”

“Told you when?”

“When he called me the other night. Jeez, what’s with you?”

“Why does he think it wouldn’t be the same if I was back home?” Derek demands as he slams the driver’s side door before twisting in his seat to look at Cora.

“Here’s an idea,” She says with a dramatic sigh. “Ask him yourself.”

Derek pulls a face before turning away and starting the engine. It’s fully dark by the time they get back onto the highway, and before long, Cora starts to nod off, her head resting against the window. Derek drives on in peaceful silence for nearly an hour before he spots a sign for a diner a little way up the road. He pulls off into the parking lot, and for a moment, considers leaving Cora to sleep because she looks so peaceful but figures she’ll be anything but peaceful if she finds out he went and ate without waking her.

“Hey,” He says suddenly as they walk across the parking lot towards the diner, “What else does Stiles tell you about me?”

Cora just rolls her eyes and groans loudly in response.

****

**:::**

**:::**

After their trip to Ashokan reservoir, Derek starts going to therapy.

It’s Cora who suggests it, after he shuts her down when she starts asking him more questions about Laura one evening.

“It might actually help you, you know,” She had snapped, barging into his bedroom with an out of date phonebook in her hand, opened to a section entitled ‘mental health services’; what had surprised Derek more than her suggestion was the fact that they even owned a phonebook. He didn’t even know phonebooks still got published.

When Derek hadn’t responded, her expression had gone soft and she’d sat down on the end of his bed and dropped the phonebook to the floor.

“It helped me, talking to someone.”

“When were you in therapy?” Derek had asked sullenly, glaring down at his bedspread.

“When I lived in Idaho,” Cora had replied in a quiet voice. “Apparently I have – had anger issues. All because I broke this one guy’s wrist in gym class.”

“You broke someone’s wrist?” Derek had asked, not really surprised because he’s been on the receiving end of Cora’s anger more times than he can count and fully believes she could have broken someone’s wrist in anger.

“He pushed me up against a wall and grabbed my tits,” Cora had snapped in response, “He deserved everything he got.”

Derek hadn’t been sure how to respond to that because as much as he knows what it’s like to have his consent and agency ignored, that’s not a conversation he feels he can have with his little sister just yet, so instead he just holds his hand out for the phonebook and starts idly leafing through it instead.

**:::**

When he actually goes, actually sits down in the comfortably bland office, it feels like a much smaller step than he had expected. He doesn’t really talk for the first few sessions, just sits in easy silence with Jeph, who isn’t much older than he is and has the kind of soft, lilting voice that makes Derek feel sleepy and safe and comforted.

The first couple of sessions after he does start talking always leaving him feeling raw and exposed when he leaves, but after a couple of twice weekly appointments, he starts to notice a difference, realizes that he’s beginning to talk more freely about subjects that used to make him clam up, is more patient with Cora when she’s in one of her moods. After six and a half years of never speaking to anyone about his life, of building up mental walls and defenses, it feels almost alien to let his guard down.

The most difficult part of his sessions with Jeph is trying to explain all the things that have happened to him without revealing the existence of the supernatural, which he worries sometimes may defeat the purpose of therapy, but even without announcing that he’s a werewolf, he’s still able to talk through everything that happened with Paige, about Kate and what she did, about Peter.

He talks to Jeph about Stiles sometimes too, dances around Stiles’ age for a little while before sheepishly admitting when Jeph asks, that yes, Stiles is quite a bit younger than him. Jeph, to his surprise, doesn’t suggest that he’s in the wrong for being interested in someone five and a half years younger than him and instead proposes that perhaps the reason Derek finds it easier to relate to teenagers is because the trauma he has experienced has had an impact on his emotional maturity. Derek’s never made that link before, but thinks after Jeph suggests it that there’s definitely some truth in the idea, because there are still days where he wakes up feeling like a terrified sixteen year old again.

**:::**

Christmas passes in quiet and slightly sad way. Derek hasn’t really celebrated Christmas since the fire, but evidently, Cora’s old foster family went in for it in a big way and she seems really upset that there’s not even a tree in the apartment.

In the end, Derek grudgingly agrees to her hanging twinkly lights around the windows and the fire escape, but draws the line at having a tree in the lounge. Cora ends up with a tiny one on top of her dresser that’s completely dwarfed by the gifts she’s been given by friends.

She sheepishly hands Derek a neatly wrapped gift on Christmas morning, telling him that she knows he didn’t get her anything but that she wanted to get him a gift anyway. Derek ducks back into his own bedroom at that, grabbing the far less neatly wrapped gift he bought for her and dropping it into her lap before tearing open his own present. It’s a journal, bound in soft leather, accompanied by some drawing pencils and a fancy looking pen.

“I just figured you keep writing Stiles all the time,” Cora tells him dismissively as she picks at the scotch tape on her gift. “And thought, you know, you could write stuff in that. Or draw, or whatever. You used to like drawing.”

Derek nods, because yes, he did used to like drawing, back before his whole life fell apart. As he opens the journal and runs his fingers lightly over the smooth, creamy paper, he hopes it’s something he can get back to liking.

Cora gives him an enthusiastic half hug when she finally gets the gift wrap off the messenger bag he bought her. “I thought you could use it,” He says quietly as she lets go of him. “For school.”

She grins hugely at him, swinging it over her shoulder and heading into her bedroom to open the gifts she got from her friends. Derek does the same, pulling out the slightly battered Amazon box that’s been under his bed for a week; Stiles has sent him a few books, some Kerouac and Bukowski and Burroughs, which surprises Derek because Stiles has always struck him more as a comic book sort of person, not a beat poets and Bukowski sort of person.

And presumably because Stiles thinks he’s hilarious, he’s also sent a tin of band-aids shaped like bacon.

**:::**

Cora started talking in vague terms about going back to visit sometime around Christmas, and really ramps up her campaign of going back once she's started college in the new year.  
  
She's sneaky about it too, Derek realizes. She doesn't come right out and say they should go back so Derek can see Stiles, but makes little insinuations about how Scott could probably use some help or how he should make sure Isaac is ok.  
  
Eventually, she outright admits that she wants to go back, and Derek finds himself impulsively buying plane tickets the minute she leaves the apartment. He figures he can call it a reward for her doing so well in school.  
  
The two weeks leading up to their flight are a nightmare; he texts Stiles every day now and not telling him that they're coming back feels like torture.

**:::**

The three days he and Cora spend in Beacon Hills pass like a whirlwind, and if he’s honest, he really resents having to spend time with Scott’s pack, watching the way the twins, who have apparently redeemed themselves in Scott’s eyes, keep smirking at him and making him feel sick with anger. He doesn’t like the way they mock Stiles whenever he talks, not enough that the others notice, but that enough that Stiles shuts down and goes quiet whenever they’re around.

He corners one of them, Ethan, he thinks, and tells him as such. It probably won’t have much effect in the long run, but it’s worth it when he sees the smile that Stiles flashes him.

**:::**

If leaving Beacon Hills for the first time, or technically the second time, Derek supposes, had been hard, it's nothing compared to how hard it is to leave after spending the last three days with Stiles.

Cora's quiet for the whole drive back to the airport, sending sympathetic smiles in his direction whenever he catches her eye.

"What are you going to do?"

It's the first thing she's said to him since they got on the plane and when he opens his eyes, he sees her twisted to one side, watching him intently.

"About what?"

"Palestine," Cora replies drily as she tugs the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. "What do you think? About Stiles. You and Stiles."

"I'm not going to do anything."

"Well that's stupid."

Derek shrugs and makes a show of pulling his earphones from his pocket and plugging them into his phone. He can still hear Cora muttering under her breath but at least has his music to focus on instead.

Cora gives him a break until they're on the subway back to their apartment, having received a smattering of text messages from Stiles as well.

“When are you going to go back and see him again?” Cora continues as she sits down in an empty seat, as though there hasn’t been a five hour and a half hour break in their conversation.

“Who?”

“Stiles. When are you going to go see him again?”

“I don’t know,” Derek sighs as he leans against a concrete support beam. “Soon. Maybe.”

“Good.”

She goes quiet after that, leaving Derek to continue to stare miserably at his cell phone. He’d quite happily get on the next train back to the airport, on the next plane back to Beacon Hills right now. He doesn’t say that out loud though, and decides that he’s not going to say that to Stiles either, because really, they only had three days together and they didn’t really talk about how they felt for each other much during that time. He’s not entirely sure Stiles feels the same way about him as he does about Stiles and he feels like he should at least give Stiles some space to figure that out before he starts talking about going back to visit again.

**:::**

Stiles, it turns out, when he finally writes to Derek, is probably in love with him. Derek had felt sick to his stomach when he’d seen the letter from Stiles on his bed; part of him had automatically assumed that this was it, this was Stiles blowing him off, that he was going to tell him he was too far away, or too broken or just too old and that he wanted nothing to do with him, wanted to go back to being friends.

It scares him a little, knowing how Stiles feels. Mostly because it’s forced him to think about how he feels towards Stiles, and he’s fairly certain he feels the same way.

**:::**

After he sends the letter telling Derek he’s probably in love with him, Stiles starts to get bolder and more flirty in his text messages. Although that’s nothing compared to the phone calls.

He’s gone so long without speaking to Stiles on the phone, that it feels weird at first when Stiles calls him instead of texts.

“Don’t all these long distance calls cost you a fortune?” Derek asks him one Saturday afternoon while they talk about nothing in particular.

“ _Little bit,_ ” Stiles replies. “ _Worth it though. Getting to talk to you instead of just texting. Because you can’t disappear for hours at a time and pretend you left your cell someplace when I’m calling you._ ”

“That was one time I forgot to text you back,” Derek replies. “We could talk on Skype instead if you want. It’d be cheaper.”

“ _That’d mean I’d have to be, you know, dressed when I call you._ ”

“You’re not dressed right now?”

“ _Get your mind out of the gutter_ ,” Stiles laughs. “ _I’m wearing my pajamas still. It’s not like I’m naked or anything._ ”

“Oh,” Derek replies after a moment’s pause. “Shame.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Nothing. What’s so bad about your pajamas that I can’t see them?” Derek asks, feeling his cheeks heat up as he flushes.

“ _Nothing’s wrong with them_ ,” Stiles replies huffily. “ _They’re just probably the least appealing clothes I own. And you’re still laboring under this ridiculous delusion that I’m sort of attractive and I’d rather not shatter that delusion just yet. I like being liked._ ”

“I guarantee your pajamas are not going make me stop liking you,” Derek reassures him, feeling vaguely embarrassed to be saying that aloud. “And if they did, well, you could just take them off.” His voice drops to a mumble on those last few words, and he goes quiet again, waiting for Stiles to break the silence.

“ _So you’re suggesting I strip for you now?_ ” Stiles asks at last, his voice slightly breathy.

“No, I just – forget it,” Derek mutters.

“ _Don’t want to,_ ” Stiles replies, sounding slightly petulant. “ _That why you want to Skype me? So you can check out the goods?_ ”

“Do you really say things like this?”

“ _Sure sounds like it, doesn’t it. Answer the question._ ”

“It’d be an added bonus,” Derek replies with a small laugh.

“ _Can I tell you something?_ ” Stiles asks quietly.

“Sure.”

“ _Kind of turns me on. Thinking of you, thinking stuff like that about me._ ” There’s a brief pause on the line, and as Derek listens, he can hear what sounds like Stiles’ desk chair being pushed across the carpet followed by the slight groan of mattress springs. “ _I can say stuff like that to you, right? Not crossing a line?_ ”

“Not in my book.”

“ _Good. I mean, good for me. Not sure it’s good for you knowing that, mind you. I shouldn’t have told you that, right?_ ”

“Yes you should,” Derek replies. “You’re not crossing any lines.”

“ _So can I tell you something else?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Once I hang up, I might have to lose the pajamas. Deal with, um, a situation._ ”

“You have to hang up to do that?” Derek asks in a low voice, palming his semi erect cock through the soft cotton of his sweat pants.

“ _What?_ ”

“I said do you have to hang up to do that?” Derek repeats slowly and patiently.

“ _Uh, yeah. Because I’m already dancing on the hella weird and line crossy line. And if I’m right about what I think you’re suggesting right now, I’d be so far past that line that I can’t even see the line anymore. Get what I’m saying?_ ”

“There’s no line. Stop saying there’s a line.”

“ _What would you rather I said?_ ” Stiles snaps, “ _That I’m seriously fighting back the urge to shove my hand down my pants right now? Because I’ve got a stupidly overactive imagination and you telling me stuff like how you wouldn’t actually mind maybe seeing me naked is making me stupid hard?_ ”

“You can say that if you want,” Derek hazards, toying with the drawstring of his sweats.

“ _Who are you and what have you done with Derek Hale?_ ” Stiles laughs uncertainly, and as Derek listens intently; he can hear mattress springs groaning again, which doesn’t quite cover the sound of Stiles moaning softly.

“Don’t hang up,” Derek says quietly. “Please?”

“ _Trust me dude_ ,” Stiles replies with a groan, “ _You’re going to want me to hang up in a minute. Unless you want to hear all sorts of inappropriate things._ ”

“Trust me,” Derek mimics as he hurriedly shoves his hand down into his sweats and gives his cock a few quick tugs. “I’d like that.”

Stiles moans loudly at that, his breathing becoming heavier as Derek listens. “ _Just so we’re clear_ ,” Stiles asks breathily, “ _you’re onboard with this weird phone sex scenario thing? I can keep doing what I’m doing?_ ”

“I’d like that.”

They both go quiet at that, Derek listening to the noises Stiles is making as he strokes his cock languidly. He moans, louder than he would usually, but wanting Stiles to know he’s just as into this as Stiles is. Closing his eyes, he focuses on Stiles’ whimpery moans, imagining that it’s Stiles’ hand wrapped around his cock as he bucks his hips off the bed to fuck into the tight circle of his fist. He comes to the sound of Stiles gasping through his own orgasm, a wave of self conscious awkwardness sweeping over him at how vulnerable he suddenly feels.

“ _So we’re going to do that again, right?_ ” Stiles asks drowsily. “ _Soon?_ ”

Derek huffs out a happy yes as he reaches over to grab a shirt from the floor and uses it to wipe the come off his hand. They talk for a little longer, mostly about Scott and his pack before Stiles tells him he has to go, but not before he makes Derek promise that he’ll call him back later that night.

“ _If you’re, uh, up for a repeat of that_ ,” He clarifies when Derek asks why.

“Definitely. Now go away.”

“ _Wow, how polite,_ ” Stiles laughs before ending the call.

**:::**

It becomes a semi-regular thing that they do, the mutual jerking off while they’re on the phone. Derek doesn’t really want to call it phone sex, because that phrase always puts him in mind of people describing what they want to do to each other, whereas he and Stiles just listen to each other. Stiles will usually pre-empt it by asking pointedly how Cora is and enquiring innocently as to whether she’s in the apartment. Derek likes it, but every time he suggests that they talk on Skype instead, because he’d really like to _see_ instead of just hear, Stiles shuts him down.

“You know you’re attractive, right?” Derek asks in exasperation one afternoon when Stiles refuses to talk to him on Skype again.

“ _You know saying shit like that makes you sound like an asshole, right?_ ” Stiles huffs down the phone. “ _I just don’t want to Skype, OK? Do you have to keep asking all the goddamn time?_ ”

“I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” Derek replies, feeling guilty when he realizes that that’s exactly what it sounds like he was trying to do. “I was just wondering why.”

“ _If I tell you why_ ,” Stiles starts, “ _will you promise not to sulk?_ ”

“OK.”

“ _I nearly agreed to it one time,_ ” Stiles tells him through a yawn, “ _but then I started worrying about what would happen if someone got a hold of your laptop and –_ ”

“You think I’m going to show people naked pictures of you?”

“ _No, you big tool, more that I was worried that if someone got a hold of your laptop for whatever reason and you save pictures or something, I’m still only seventeen. You could get in a shit load of trouble._ ”

“Why would anyone be looking at my laptop?”

“ _I don’t know. I don’t know what you do with it. You’d probably leave it on a train or something. I just don’t particularly want you to get arrested just because you got it into your head it’d be a good idea to get a look at my dick._ ”

“Point taken,” Derek sighs as he lies back on the couch and frowns up at the windows. “No Skype.”

“ _Stop sulking_ ,” Stiles admonishes with a laugh. “ _We can still call each other and, you know, stuff._ ”

“Stuff,” Derek repeats.

“ _Want me to say it out loud?_ ” Stiles asks in a low voice. “ _You can call me and listen to me jerk off. You like that, right? Like it when I say your name?_ ”

“Yes,” Derek replies with a sigh. “You know I do.”

“ _You want to?_ ”

“Can’t,” Derek grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listens to Stiles’ desk chair creaking. “Cora’s home.” That’s a slight lie; Cora is in the building, just not in the apartment. She’s up on the roof with Robin and Robin’s new girlfriend and some new guy that’s started hanging around with them doing something involving cameras and paint; Derek didn’t really want to know more than that and is more than happy to leave them to it.

“ _Sucks to be you,_ ” Stiles laughs throatily. “ _Guess you’ll just have to listen._ ”

Derek does listen, shifting uncomfortably on the couch as he listens to the sound of Stiles gasping his name as he comes.

“I hate you,” Derek huffs when Stiles asks him if he enjoyed that. “You’re an asshole.”

“ _Yep_ ,” Stiles replies before promptly ending the call, leaving Derek staring at his cell in disbelief. He’s ridiculously hard right now, which is made worse by knowing that there’s no way he can take care of the situation until Cora has left the building.

**:::**

Stiles still writes him all the time; he still receives at least one letter a week and it never ceases to amaze him how much they have to say to each other, considering how long he went having nothing to say to anyone. It feels almost like Stiles has categorized their methods of communication at this point; text messages are for flirting or complaining about school, or Scott, or his Dad, or just general complaining. Phone calls seem to be reserved specifically for their version of phone sex, which makes things very weird when Stiles calls Cora, because Derek is fairly certain he’s conditioned himself into getting hard purely at the sound of Stiles’ voice and has to scuttle off to his bedroom every time Cora talks to Stiles on the phone. Stiles seems to mostly like to send emails that contain nothing but pictures of cats, or sometimes a stupid, smug looking capybara Stiles is so fond of. The letters he sends these days, aside from his questions, seem to mostly be Stiles’ outlet for talking about his Mom and asking Derek about his family.

It was hard, telling Stiles things at first, but gradually it starts to feel right, to talk about them, to share things with Stiles. He also finds himself talking to Cora about them more as well, getting a bemused, and slightly annoyed, smile when he reminds her out of the blue one afternoon about the time she got sick at a family wedding from eating too much frosting and threw up on Laura’s new shoes. He hasn’t told Jeph about this new progress yet, but suspects he’ll be impressed, in his quiet, understated way.

**:::**

**:::**

**:::**

Cora's watching him; she's been watching him for nearly ten minutes now and it's seriously starting to get on his nerves. Only, he's determined not to crack before she does and goes back to his book, trying not to listen to her tutting as she aggressively highlights sentences in the book she's got open in front of her.

"What?" He grits out eventually. "What have I done?"

"Why are you here?" Cora asks in exasperation.

"I live here."

"That's not what I - Stiles really misses you, you know."

"I know that," Derek sighs as he drops his book onto the floor beside the couch and runs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "You think I don't miss him too?"

"I think you're being stupid," Cora tells him, clicking the cap back onto her marker and closing her text book. "He's all sad, you keep skulking around here like a sad panda, do something about it!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, get on a plane and go see him? Anything. He's your boyfriend, you think of something!"

"He's not my boyfriend," Derek sighs.

"He would be if you asked him," Cora points out.

"He can do better than me."

"Pfft. Your 'boo hoo, I'm Derek Hale, I'm the worst thing to ever happen to anyone' thing is getting old. He doesn't want someone else, he wants you. Ask him."

"What if he says no?" Derek asks in a small voice.

"Trust me, he won't."

**:::**

Stiles is in a foul mood when he calls Derek that evening; from what Derek can gather from his initial angry ranting, he's been trying to convince his Dad to let him fly up to New York but without success.

" _I told him I wanted to come up there to look at colleges, that I'm thinking of going to school up there but he didn't believe me_ ," Stiles is grumbling. Derek can hear him pacing around his room, followed by the sound of papers being moved around.

"But you don't want to come to school up here," Derek says in confusion.

" _That's not the point,_ " Stiles grumbles. " _The point is it was a brilliant excuse to come up there and see you and he saw right through it. He said he doesn't want me going up there without 'adult supervision' and you apparently don't count._ "

"Oh."

" _I_ _know. I really thought it was going to work as well. I've even got the money for a plane ticket and everything. Maybe I should just do it._ "

"That'll make things worse," Derek sighs. "I could come visit you."

" _Yeah but I wanted to see New York,_ " Stiles grumbles. " _Not shitty old Beacon Hills._ "

"Thought you wanted to see me?" Derek asks teasingly, enjoying the sound of Stiles' breath catching in his throat.

" _Of course I do_ ," he says with a sigh. By the sound of it, he's just thrown himself down on his bed and Derek lays back on his own, his free arm beneath his head. " _I fucking miss you, you big idiot_."

"I know. Cora told me."

" _Ugh,_ " Stiles huffs down the phone. " _I don't know why I tell her things. She can't keep her stupid mouth shut._ "

"I miss you too," Derek interjects before Stiles can get properly stated on complaining about Cora.

" _Stupid_ _New York. Why do you have to be on the other side of the country?_ "

"I’m sorry, was that question for me or for New York City?" Derek asks with a smile.

" _I don't know, both of you probably. What are you doing right now?_ "

"Talking to you."

" _Yeah but what are you doing while you're talking to me?_ "  
  
"Nothing. Lying on my bed. Why?"  
  
" _Oh,_ " he hears Stiles reply, his breath hitching slightly. " _Yeah, no, never mind. No reason._ "

"What are you doing?"

" _Nothing._ "

"Tell me."

" _I'm not doing anything. Now, anyway_."

"What do you mean, now?"

" _I_ _might do something when I get off the phone,_ " Stiles tells him; he sounds slightly embarrassed and Derek can just hear the sound of a zipper being slowly inched down.

"Doesn't sound like you can wait that long," Derek says, his voice dropping slightly even though he's alone in the apartment.

" _Yeah? What else do you think you can you hear?_ " Stiles asks him.

Derek focuses his attention, listening intently. There's a shuffling sound coming down the line, like Stiles is wriggling around on his bed. It's quickly followed by the heavy sound of jeans hitting the floor. "Sounds like you're less dressed than you were when this call started."

" _I think you're imagining that,_ " Stiles laughs breathily. " _Wishful thinking._ "

"Hmm, maybe," Derek replies, holding his cell against his ear with his shoulder as he lifts his hips off the bed and tugs his sweatpants lower, exposing his tenting underwear.

" _Wish you were here,_ " Stiles sighs into phone, not quite managing to stifle a small moan. " _Maybe_ _then I wouldn't be doing this by myself?_ "

"Doing what?" Derek asks as he palms his cock through his underwear.

" _You know what_."

"Tell me. Please?"

Stiles groans at that and Derek hears the unmistakable sound of lotion being squirted out, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when he hears a sharp intake of breath from Stiles and a little mumble about 'too fucking cold'. " _Come on, you know what I'm doing,_ " Stiles sighs raggedly. " _J-jerking off._ "

"I know."

" _What about you?_ "

"Same," Derek replies as he slips his hand into his underwear and wraps his hand around his cock, moving slowly as he listens to the sound of Stiles' heavy breathing.

" _How are you real?_ " Stiles laughs into the phone, his words slightly muffled.

Derek doesn't reply to that, just moans softly as he strokes his cock. It isn't the first time they've done this, but it still sends a little thrill through Derek as he listens to Stiles, the sound of his muttered curses and stifled moans making him shiver as he starts to move his hand faster.

" _You close?_ " Stiles breathes down the line.

"Yeah," Derek whispers.

" _Good. That's - I like -_ " Stiles manages, before gasping out Derek's name as he comes. Derek jacks his cock faster, dropping his phone onto the pillow as he arches his back slightly, spurred on by Stiles' whispers of encouragement. It's not long before he comes too, a desperate grunt slipping past his lips as he spills hot and sticky into the palm of his hand. After he's caught his breath, and shamelessly wiped his hand clean on his boxer briefs, he snatches up his phone.

"Still there?" He asks, not caring how shaky his voice sounds.

" _Fuck yes_ ," Stiles laughs. " _God you sound so hot when you, um, you know. When you come._ "

Derek can hear the faint note of embarrassment in his voice and smiles. "So do you."

" _Doubtful_."

"You do. Does it for me," Derek tells him earnestly, smiling up at his cracked ceiling.

" _Well clearly you're very weird_ ," Stiles replies. " _Ugh. I kind of need a shower now, but I don't wanna get off the phone._ "

"Why do you need a shower?"

" _Came all over my stomach_ ," Stiles mutters, definitely sounding embarrassed this time. Derek groans; lifting his head off the pillow and glaring down at his cock which gives a twitch of interest at that mental picture.

" _So, yeah, anyway. Talk to you later?_ " Stiles sighs.

"Yeah, OK."

" _Right. Bye then_."

"Bye," Derek replies, feeling the awkwardness that always sneaks in at the end of their phone calls, like both of them want to say something more but can't quite bring themselves to. After another awkward goodbye, Stiles hangs up, leaving Derek alone with his thoughts.

He knows how Stiles feels about him, having read the letter he sent him telling him so at least once a week. It's been unfolded and re-folded so many times now that the paper had gone all soft and worn along the creases. Derek's fairly certain he feels the same way, but still can't quite bring himself to say that to Stiles. He's hinted at it, and thinks, hopes, that Stiles knows how he feels without him saying it because the idea of saying those three words out loud scares the hell out of him.

**:::**

He sends Stiles a card for Valentine’s Day, feeling embarrassed even as he puts the thing in the mailbox. The last time he sent a Valentines was when he was still in middle school. It’s nothing over the top, just something to remind Stiles that he’s thinking of him. He’s fairly certain that Stiles will find Valentine’s Day unreasonably corny and didn’t want to go overboard with the card.

To his surprise, when the fourteenth rolls around, he finds that Stiles has sent him a card as well, although all he’s written inside it is ‘did you know instead of Valentine’s Day, some people celebrate steak and blow job day on March 14th instead. Think about it.’

Derek does think about that, thinks about it in great detail as he slips out of his jeans and leisurely jerks off, thinks about how much he wants to be down on his knees in front of Stiles, about how he might taste, how he’d get to hear in person the noises he’s only heard over the phone so far. He comes hard, stomach muscles clenching as he spills over his hand, warm come coating his knuckles.

**:::**

From Stiles – 23:49  
 _Sorry, know its late there but I maybe have good news_

To Stiles – 23:53  
Planning on telling me what it is?

From Stiles – 00:01  
 _yeah, sorry, got distracted_

From Stiles – 00:02  
 _so you remember how my ‘go to NYC to look at colleges but really look at you and maybe say hi to Cora while I’m there’ plan fell flat on its face? on account of I apparently require adult supervision at all times and you just don’t quite cut it in my dads eyes?_

To Stiles – 00:03  
Vividly.

From Stiles – 00:04  
 _And remember how you were massively sad and cried yourself to sleep every night for a week because you couldn’t see me?_

To Stiles – 00:05  
No. Because that didn’t happen.

From Stiles – 00:07  
 _In my head it did. So anyway, my dad has to go to some training thing. In phoenix. For four days…_

From Stiles – 00:07  
 _the weekend right before my spring break starts…_

From Stiles – 00:07  
 _get where I’m going with this??_

To Stiles – 00:09  
I hope so…

From Stiles – 00:10  
 _I mean I know we were kind of vaguely talking about that you might come back to BH at some point in the future for a bit? And I honestly realize this is asking a fuck of a lot, but I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d come back._

From Stiles – 00:11  
 _when my dad isn’t here._

To Stiles – 00:14  
Let me know the dates.

From Stiles – 00:15  
 _That a yes???_

To Stiles – 00:16  
maybe….

From Stiles – 00:18  
 _stop being a mean fucker. Is it a yes?_

To Stiles – 00:19  
:)

To Stiles – 00:22  
In case :) wasn’t enough for you, yes it’s a yes. xx

**:::**

The next time Stiles calls, Derek’s in the middle of booking his ticket back to Beacon Hills.

“ _Would you be mad that I spoke to my Dad about you coming to visit?_ ”

Derek pulls a face and stops what he’s doing, putting his credit card down on the comforter. “Wasn’t the whole point of this visit that it’s happening when your Dad is away so he doesn’t know about it?”

“ _Well yeah, and we’re still going to do that part, but I was kind of thinking you could maybe stay the entire week. If you want to, that is._ ”

“What did you tell him? About me?”

“ _That we’re friends,_ ” Stiles replies, and Derek can hear him shrugging over the phone. “ _I mean he already knows we write each other all the damn time and he pays my cell phone bill, so he knows I call you pretty much every other day. He’s not stupid though and, um, if you do visit for longer, there are conditions apparently._ ”

“Conditions.”

“ _Yeah, conditions._ ”

“What conditions?”

“ _Just, you know, conditions. On you visiting. Because my Dad’s being all crazy over-protective, like you’re just going to take advantage of my virgin body or something._ ”

“OK.”

“ _Like how if you come to stay, he wants you to stay at my house, not at a motel._ ”

Derek frowns at that, because that sounds surprising liberal considering Stiles is still only seventeen and his father’s job. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” He hazards, absent mindedly rubbing his finger over the raised numbers on his credit card as he listens.

“ _Are you kidding? He’s doing it so he can keep an eye on us. Apparently you’ll be ‘strictly in the guest room’,_ ” Stiles grumbles. “ _He seems to have this crazy idea that if you got a motel, I’d sneak over there and stay the night._ ”

“Like you did last time I was in town.”

“ _Exactly, only he doesn’t know about that so it’s kind of unfair for him to judge me. He’s trying to cock block me._ ”

“I’ll be there for four days before that though,” Derek reminds him.

“ _And he said he wants to come with me to get you from the airport. So we don’t, and I quote, ‘get up to anything’,”_ Stiles carries on, apparently oblivious to what Derek is saying.

“What exactly have you been saying to him?”

“ _Nothing! Well, I talk about you, but it’s not like I’m following him around the house telling him that I’d quite like you to jump my bones at some point._ ”

“Mm hmm, I’m sure. Look, if it means I get to spend more time there, I don’t care what conditions your Dad wants to put in place.”

“ _Well I do! Seriously, the airport? What does he think we’re going to get up to at an airport?_ ”

Derek doesn’t respond to that, because he can think of plenty of things he could do at the airport with Stiles, at the airport with all of it’s many, many hotels.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Stiles plows on, _“I checked flights and stuff, and there’s a flight from New York into Sacramento that lands about forty five minutes before my Dad’s flight from Phoenix. I’m figuring we can pretend you were on that flight instead._ ”

Derek pulls a face. “Where do I start with all the things that could go wrong with that plan?”

“ _It’s a brilliant plan, what are you even talking about?_ ”

“Think I should buy a ticket for that flight too? In case he doesn’t believe us?” Derek asks, shaking his head when he realizes how quickly he’s been drawn into Stiles’ plan.

“ _It’s your money,_ ” Stiles replies. “ _But I’m pretty sure he’s not going to start demanding to see your ticket or quizzing pilots._ ”

Derek nods, and listens as Stiles starts to talk about school, and Scott, and things Scott did at school. Apparently there’s a new girl that’s finally replaced Allison in Scott’s affections; Derek doesn’t particularly care about Scott and who he may or may not have a crush on, just hopes for the sake of his pack that the new girl isn’t also from a family of hunters.

“Huh,” He says suddenly, cutting Stiles off mid-flow.

“ _Huh what? What did I say?_ ”

“What? Nothing, just my flight is cheaper if I fly back on the Saturday instead of Monday like I was going to,” Derek explains as he enters his card details.

“ _Fate_ ,” Stiles replies happily. Derek tries not to scoff at that, because for all he doesn’t believe in fate, Stiles sounds like he might be serious and upsetting Stiles really isn’t something he wants to do.

“If you say so,” He says at last, pulling a face when he realizes what time it is. His session with Jeph is due to start in just over an hour and he needs to get over to Prospect Heights. The location of Jeph’s office is one of the things that convinced Derek to go in the first place; after a session, he sometimes likes to walk over to the park and decompress before going home. “Can I call you tomorrow? I have to go out now.”

“ _Sure,_ ” Stiles says, to the sound of drawers being pulled open and rattling cutlery. “ _I got shit to do too._ ”

Derek nods, then feels stupid for nodding because Stiles can’t see it, and instead tells Stiles he’ll speak to him tomorrow. It’s there again, the slight awkwardness that crops up whenever they end a call, before Stiles is gone and Derek’s left holding his phone and feeling vaguely disappointed.

**:::**

He’s barely seen Cora, and is starting to worry that he’s going to have to tell her over the phone that he’s going away for a week and a half, until he runs into her in the deli down the street one afternoon.

“Why are you buying beets?” He asks as he peers into the basket Cora’s holding instead of saying hello. “You hate beets.”

“They’re not for me,” Cora replies. “They’re for Mr. Rabinowicz.”

“Since when do you shop for the elderly?”

“Since Max took photos of him for this assignment for his course. Did you know he was in a concentration camp?”

“Max?” Derek asks in confusion. Max is the new guy that’s started hanging out with Cora and her friends, the guy who thinks he’s being incredibly subtle when he stares at Cora across the apartment. He’s anything but.

“No, idiot, Mr. Rabinowicz. In the war.”

Derek shakes his head, because no, he didn’t know that, despite all the times he’s spoken to Mr. Rabinowicz.

“Anyway, I said I’d help out getting his groceries because he had a fall the other week and is struggling with the stairs,” Cora continues, wandering away from Derek to grab other items from the list she’s got crumpled in her free hand. “How are you, anyway? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. You’re always out when I come home.”

“I’m going back to Beacon Hills for a week,” Derek replies. “Well, ten days.”

“To see your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Derek automatically corrects, frowning when Cora smirks at him. “But yes, to see Stiles.”

“Good. It’s about time you did something about that,” Cora grins, holding her basket out Derek to take before grabbing a heavy bottle of vinegar off the shelf.

“You don’t mind?”

“That you’re going to see Stiles? Who keeps calling me up and complaining about how much he misses you? Of course I don’t mind. It’s a two for one, really. I get to not have to listen to Stiles complain for ten days, and I also don’t have to look at your miserable face for ten days. Hey, I might have a party while you’re gone.”

“If you let any of your friends go in my room, I’ll kill you,” Derek huffs, swinging the basket at Cora, who dances easily out of the way.

“Whatever. Hey, you want to get dinner someplace tonight?”

“Sure,” Derek shrugs, following her to the checkouts and watching as she chats easily with the clerk. “Where do you want to go?”

“You pick,” Cora replies, hoisting the brown paper bag up unto her hip. “Call me, OK? I need to drop this off to Mr. Rabinowicz and then I’ve got a class.”

Derek nods in agreement, watching her as she heads off towards their apartment block, her shoulders hunched to keep out the bitter wind that’s gusting down the street.

**:::**

Stiles sends him a text every evening now, with just a number and nothing else. By the time it gets to ten days before he’s due to go back, he feels like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime and has no idea how he’s supposed to make it through this last week and a half without losing his mind.

**:::**

He spots Stiles as he comes up to the entrance to the arrivals lounge, before Stiles sees him and feels a happy pang in his chest at the sight of him chewing anxiously on a fingernail as he scans the crowd of people moving past him. He can’t, and doesn’t want to, hold back the smile that spreads across his face when Stiles finally spots him, making a ridiculous, but worryingly endearing squeaking sound before tearing across the grimy carpet.

Derek opens his mouth to say hello but never gets the chance because the next thing he knows, Stiles has jumped on him, literally jumped on him, and wrapped his legs around Derek’s hips as he kisses him hungrily.

He gives up on holding his bag, dropping it carelessly to the floor as he moves his hands to the backs of Stiles’ thighs to hold him up. He has to force himself not to listen to the people streaming past them as he readily returns Stiles’ kiss, because although some people seem to be amused by his antics, he can also hear some disapproving mutterings at their demonstration.

When Stiles finally unhooks his legs and Derek lets him down, he backs off a bit, looking embarrassed and shifts from one foot to the other, his hands wedged in the pockets of his jeans.

“Overkill, right?” He smiles shyly, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor as he industriously avoids Derek’s gaze.

“I’m not complaining.”

He stoops to grab his bag and finally manages to catch Stiles’ eye, smiling at him when he does. He hears Stiles’ heartbeat start to calm down at that, sees him visibly relax. He impulsively grabs for Stiles’ hand, lacing their fingers together as they walk through the airport towards the short stay parking lot, shrugging when Stiles cocks an eyebrow in surprise. Whatever. He’s flown 3000 miles to see Stiles. He can hold his hand if he wants to.

**:::**

“Sorry for, you know, essentially assaulting you back there,” Stiles mutters once they’re in the Jeep, as he busies himself with the urgent business of connecting his phone to the stereo.

“S’OK.”

“I just kind of thought that if I didn’t do that, I’d totally bottle it and not kiss you at all. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Derek huffs as he reaches across and plucks Stiles’ phone from his hand, scrolling through his music and pulling a face at the selection. “I kissed you back, didn’t I?”

“Well yeah –”

“I liked it,” Derek continues, smiling to himself when he finds some Radiohead on Stiles’ phone. “It was very Love Actually.”

“It – what? You watched Love Actually? You? Seriously?”

Derek shrugs placidly, enjoying the affronted look on Stiles’ face as he hands him back his cell. “Sure. Why?”

Stiles makes a strangled noise in his throat and vaguely gestures at Derek with both hands, like that somehow explains his point perfectly.

“Stiles?”

“Uh huh?”

“Start the car? I didn’t come all this way to hang out in a parking lot.”

“Absolutely,” Stiles murmurs, starting the jeep and gunning the engine. They lurch out of the parking lot, the car bouncing as Stiles clips the curb. Derek pulls him phone from his pocket, texting Cora to let her know he’s arrived. He can feel Stiles’ eyes on him the whole time and wonders if it’s because Stiles is happy to see him or if he’s still completely thrown by the idea if him having watched Love Actually.

He suspects it’s the latter.

**:::**

Things feel awkward by the time they make it back to Stiles’ house; Stiles went quiet on the drive back, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat and messing with his phone every time Derek tried to talk to him. He goes with it, because it’s easier than trying to force Stiles into conversation when he clearly doesn’t want to talk.

Stiles disappears towards the kitchen the minute they get inside the house, leaving Derek standing uneasily in the hall. When he doesn’t come back, Derek drops his bag to floor and goes to look for him.

He finds Stiles standing in front of the open refrigerator, two cans of Arizona Iced Tea in his hands; he’s staring down at them with a look of utmost confusion on his face.

“I figured you’d want a drink,” Stiles says without turning round. “But then I couldn’t work out if you’d like raspberry or lemon better and then I realized that I have no clue if you even like iced tea and I just –”

Derek crosses to where he’s standing, taking the cans from him and setting them down on the countertop before gently wrapping his hands around Stiles’ wrists. “It’s fine, Stiles.”

“OK, but we’ve got other stuff too,” Stiles mutters, trying to pull out of Derek’s grip.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have to stay here if that’s what this is about. I can go get a motel.”

Stiles scowls at that, meeting Derek’s eyes for the first time since they left the airport. “Why would I want you to stay at a motel?”

“I – I don’t know?” Derek replies. “You seem kind of, uh, off.”

“I’m not off,” Stiles grouses, making another attempt to pull away from Derek; he doesn’t really achieve much, and ends up closer to Derek than he was when he started. “OK, maybe I’m a bit – it’s weird, OK? You being here.”

“OK.” Derek watches him, waiting for him to continue. Stiles bites his lip, frowning as Derek brushes his thumb across the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse race.

“You’re going to get sick of me, in like, a day, tops,” Stiles sighs, looking down at the floor, his shoulders sagging.

“What?”

“What if I get all, you know, me?” Stiles asks, stepping into Derek’s personal space and resting his forehead against his shoulder. “And you realize that coming out here for a whole week was a terrible idea?”

Derek lets go of one his wrists, sliding his hand up his arm until he can curl his fingers around the back of Stiles’ neck. “I’m not going to realize that.”

“You’re that stupid?” Stiles asks with a wry laugh.

“You know what I mean.”

“Still feeling awkward here, man.”

“Can I kiss you?” Derek asks quietly, rubbing at the hinge of Stiles’ jaw with his thumb. He feels Stiles frown against his shoulder, hears his pulse start to speed up.

“If you really have to,” Stiles replies, lifting his head and smiling at Derek. Derek rolls his eyes, letting go of Stiles’ other wrist as he leans forward and brushes his lips against Stiles’. It’s a good ten minutes before they break apart, both flushed and breathing heavily; Stiles seems to have lost his nervousness now and toys with the zipper on Derek’s jacket, watching him with wide eyes.

“So, um. I have a bedroom,” Stiles tells him with a grin. “Upstairs. With a bed in it.”

Derek gives him one last kiss before letting go of him and returning his smile, leaning past him and grabbing one of the cans of iced tea.

“For the record, I like raspberry.”

He heads back out into the hall to grab his bag, listening to Stiles grumbling behind him about how raspberry is _his_ favorite and that he really hates lemon flavor tea.

**:::**

“You’ve got a new bed,” is the first thing Derek says once they get into Stiles’ bedroom.

“Queen size,” Stiles grins as he sits down at the end of the bed, smoothing his hands over the comforter. “There was an incident with my old bed. And Isaac.”

“An incident,” Derek repeats, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not like that,” Stiles replies, emphasizing his words with a generous eye roll. “He was play fighting with Scott and fell on it. Tragically, it broke.” He pulls a face and tilts his head, gesturing for Derek to come closer and reaching for him when he does. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs as he loops his fingers through Derek’s belt loops and pulls him close. Derek just nods in response, shivering when Stiles lets go of his pants and reaches up to curl one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down into a lazy kiss.

“Missed you too,” Derek murmurs, trying not to break contact with Stiles as they move up the bed. “Missed you so much.”

Stiles hums in agreement, tangling his hand into Derek’s hair and pulling him close. They kiss unhurriedly for a long time, Stiles’ hands slipping under Derek’s Henley and grazing across his skin. 

**:::**

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s chest sometime later, his fingers tracing lazy circles against a spot just above Derek’s hip. Derek doesn’t really know what to say to that so settles for pressing a quick kiss against Stiles’ temple. “Like,” Stiles continues as he stretches out and drapes his leg over Derek’s own, “I spent all that time not knowing when I was going to see you next and we were talking about my dad going away and now it seems like it’s been no time at all and you’re actually here.”  
  
“I’m happy I’m here,” Derek says sleepily.  
  
“I’m happierer.”  
  
“That’s not a word.”  
  
“Don’t care, I am,” Stiles laughs. His hands stills on Derek’s hip and Derek hears his breath catch slightly before he tentatively nudges his fingertips under the waistband of Derek’s jeans. He’s tense against Derek’s side, like he’s expecting to be told to move any second. “I’m not going to do anything,” Stiles murmurs, his fingers twitching slightly, like it’s an effort for him to keep them still. “I just – you feel nice, ok?”  
  
“Ok,” Derek replies, shifting position slightly so his jeans aren’t cutting off the circulation to Stiles’ fingers quite so much. He runs his hand up Stiles bicep before carding his fingers through his hair and using his grip to tilt Stiles’ head back slightly so he can kiss him. “You can, um, do something. If you want.”

“Do you want?”  
  
Derek nods, biting at his bottom lip as Stiles’ lets out a shaky breath, warm against his neck.

“OK,” Stiles whispers as he curls his fingers slightly and digs his nails into Derek’s hip. “OK, I can work with that. We can work with that, I mean. What stuff? What do you want to do?”

Derek shrugs as he moves again, letting his legs flop open a little more so Stiles’ hand slips into his underwear and a little further down the crease at the top of his thigh, smiling into Stiles’ hair when he hears him curse under his breath. His tight jeans are stopping Stiles from moving his hand much further but the knowledge that his fingertips are merely inches from his cock makes Derek shiver with anticipation.

“What I wrote in that letter,” Stiles says softly as he cautiously follows the crease of Derek’s thigh with his finger. “I pretty sure I meant it. Mean it. Still. Um. That’s ok, right?”

“As long as you’re not talking about that letter you sent Cora where you called me a douchebag,” Derek replies teasingly, leaning his head back against the head board and biting his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning as Stiles’ finger continue to skate across his skin.

Stiles turns his head to the side and bites playfully at his nipple in response to that, laughing happily when Derek hisses. “Don’t be a tool,” he scolds, biting at Derek one more time before covering the fading mark with a kiss. “You know exactly which letter I’m talking about.”

“The one where you mocked me for liking giraffes and called me an idiot for getting rid of the Camaro? That letter?”

“Yep.”

“Good,” Derek whispers as he shuffles down the bed until he’s lying next to Stiles, smiling at the sad noise Stiles makes when his hand slips out of Derek’s pants. “You know I feel the same way about you, right?”

Stiles nods slowly, his gaze never leaving Derek’s. “Feels kind if intense though, right? Acknowledging it. Like, I want to say, you know, that, to you but the idea of actually saying it out loud freaks me out.”

“So don’t say it. We both know what we feel. That’s enough for me.”

Stiles nods and gives him a happy smile before reaching for the waist of Derek’s jeans again, sliding his fingers underneath and resting his hand on his hip. Derek pulls a face before reaching down and flicking open the button of his fly.

“They were digging in,” He murmurs when Stiles raises an eyebrow. “To my hip. With your hand.”

“Huh,” Stiles nods, pulling his hand out and reaching for Derek’s zipper, his fingers trembling slightly. He tugs it down, his eyes never leaving Derek’s before sliding his hand back under the fabric again. “Here?” He rubs gently at the slight indentation in Derek’s skin, where the waistband of his jeans has been digging in. Derek bites at his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning as he nods slowly.

“What about here?” He asks, shuffling closer and letting his lips brush against Derek’s as he moves his hand over the flat of his stomach and down towards his cock, his fingers straying through the thick thatch of hair. Derek surges forward and kisses him, sliding his hand down Stiles’ back and grabbing at his ass through the fabric of his pants. For all he’s kissing Derek back fervently, Stiles’ hand is moving towards his cock at a glacial pace and Derek fists his free hand in the comforter to stop himself from reaching down and forcing Stiles to move faster.

“This is OK, right?” Stiles sighs into his mouth when he finally curls his fingers around the base of Derek’s cock.

Derek nods, arching his hips towards Stiles in a bid to get him to move his hand. “Just lemme –” He lifts himself off the bed slightly and tugs his jeans and underwear lower.

That seems to give Stiles some encouragement and he starts to stroke Derek’s cock, experimentally at first, like he’s trying to figure out the different angle. It doesn’t take him long to get past experimental, and soon he’s jacking Derek’s cock confidently, his thumb brushing against the underside of the head as he licks into Derek’s mouth.

It’s one of the more unusual hand jobs Derek’s gotten; Stiles moves away from him a little, and props himself up on his elbow so he can watch what he’s doing with a fascinated expression on his face.

“Later on,” Stiles says quietly, leaning in a little closer as he moves his hand a little faster, twisting wrist on every upward stroke and making Derek moan obscenely, “later on, I’m going to blow you, if that’s OK? Because your dick looks like it probably tastes amazing,” He snaps his gaze up to meet Derek’s as he says that, a blotchy blush spreading across his cheeks as he gives him a small smile.

Derek doesn’t reply to that, just tugs feebly at Stiles’ arm, because he’s close, so close, and he wants Stiles pressed up against him, wants to be kissing him when he comes. Stiles does move, but drops his head onto Derek’s chest, his ear pressed over his heart. Derek whines softly, nuzzling into Stiles’ hair as he starts to come, his stomach muscles clenching as Stiles wrings every last drop from his cock. He’s fairly certain he’s just called out Stiles’ name as well, because Stiles is looking at him, fingers still curled loosely around his softening cock as he smiles openly.

“OK, I’m kind of regretting saying no to the whole Skype thing now,” Stiles laughs as he lets go of Derek’s cock and dips the tip of his pointer finger into the little pool of come on Derek’s stomach. “Because that looked amazing – you looked amazing.” He maintains eye contact with Derek as he slowly raises his hand and licks tentatively at his pointer finger.

“Jesus Christ,” Derek sighs in amused exasperation, flopping back against the pillow and covering his face with his arm. He hears Stiles’ laugh, feels him move away and off the bed. He listens lazily as Stiles pads over to the dresser and, from the sound of it, pulls a handful of tissues from their box; the next minute, he’s back next to Derek wiping the come off his stomach before lying back down against his chest.

“Your dick is kind of beautiful, you know?” Stiles asks, tracing Derek’s happy trail with his fingers before splaying his fingers through the thick hair around his cock. “Can I say that? Is that something people say about dicks? That they’re beautiful? Doesn’t matter, I’m going to say it anyway because yours is.”

Derek feels Stiles’ fingers twitch slightly closer to his cock, which is completely soft now and raises his head to look at Stiles.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles mumbles, turning his head slightly so his face is hidden against Derek’s chest.

“Thanks, I guess,” Derek replies at last, twisting his fingers into Stiles’ hair so he can drag his fingernails lightly across his scalp. He closes his eyes again, smiling at the contented moan Stiles makes as he cards his fingers through his hair. He feels like he should feel embarrassed, lying here with his jeans pulled down below his hips and his cock out, but mostly he just feels happy and relaxed.

He doesn’t even complain when Stiles reaches out and starts running his fingertip lightly down his cock, tracing the veins and humming happily to himself.

**:::**

They eventually head downstairs to eat, takeout from an Indian place in the next town over that Stiles is very skeptical about trying. Derek loves Indian food, prefers it to the Chinese that Stiles had been so keen on ordering. Derek, actually, would have been happy to go out to buy food, but apparently part of the whole sneaking down to California four days before he’s supposed to means that he can’t just head to the grocery store to pick up dinner things.

“OK, so this is actually kind of nice,” Stiles admits as he tears off a chunk of naan bread and stuffs it in his mouth, smearing raita sauce on his chin in the process. Derek smiles at him and reaches over to wipe it off with the pad of his thumb.

“Why did you think it wouldn’t be?”

“Thought it was going to be another one of your ‘ooh, I live in Hipsterville, I don’t have time for your peasanty, common Chinese takeout, I want something esoteric for dinner’ things.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I’m like,” Derek sighs, licking the yoghurt sauce off his thumb. “I’m not a hipster. I’m not sure I even know what a hipster is.”

“Your friends, if what Cora says about them is true.”

Derek ignores him, dumping his takeout cartons on the coffee table and stretching before yawning hugely.

“Tired?” Stiles asks, his tone soft and fond.

“A bit, I guess,” Derek replies through another yawn. “Maybe I’ve got jet lag.”

“From flying from New York to California?” Stiles asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow before moving his own trash to the coffee table as well.

“It could happen,” Derek mutters, watching Stiles as he slumps lower on the couch and props his feet up on the coffee table. He’s got an overwhelming urge to cuddle into Stiles right now, but isn’t quite sure how he’ll react. The time they’ve spent downstairs has been more two-friends-hanging-out than two-people-who-are-probably-going-to-have-sex-this-weekend and he doesn’t want to push Stiles back to that awkward place he was in earlier.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing,” Stiles says keeping his eyes fixed on the TV as he scrolls through the channels, “just do it and stop looking at me like that.”

Derek scowls at him for a moment before flopping down onto his back, resting his head on Stiles’ thigh and closing his eyes.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it?” Stiles asks, lifting his hand and carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. Derek huffs in response to that, but wriggles until he’s more comfortable, turning his face away from the TV and towards Stiles’ stomach. He hears Stiles’ breathing hitch slightly before he goes back to the very important task of watching TV while he strokes Derek’s hair, lulling Derek into a light doze.

“I’m really, stupidly happy you’re here, you know,” Stiles murmurs as his fingernails scritch over Derek’s scalp. “Like, it kind of makes my chest hurt a bit with how happy I am.”

Derek gives a quiet little hum of agreement, frowning when Stiles’ heart rate picks up slightly.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” Derek asks in confusion, opening his eyes and peering up at Stiles.

“I dunno,” Stiles sighs, his hand stilling in Derek’s hair. “I just thought maybe I shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“You shouldn’t say that you’re happy?”

“More the bit about where it’s you that’s making me so stupid happy. Feel like I’m putting pressure on you or something.”

“You’re not,” Derek assures him, pushing himself into a seated position. “I want to be here. I’m happy that I’m here. I’m happier that you’re happy.” He leans across and kisses Stiles, soft and chaste.

Before he can lie back down again, Stiles is grabbing at his sweater and pulling him into a far more passionate kiss, making muffled little moans noises as Derek works his tongue into his mouth. Somehow, they end up sprawled along the length of the couch, Derek on top of Stiles as they grope at each other.

“Can I just –” Derek starts, pulling away from Stiles and kneeling up on the couch and fumbling with the fly of Stiles’ pants, his fingers slipping on the stiff button.

“Can you just what?” Stiles asks with a sly smile, batting Derek’s hands away and undoing his pants himself before standing up and removing them completely, stepping on the toes of his socks as he does so to pull them off too.

“Want to touch you,” Derek murmurs, as Stiles sits back down, his hard on painfully obvious through his tight boxer briefs. Stiles spreads his arms wide and shoots Derek a playful smirk, a little non-verbal challenge of ‘go on then’. Derek doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he moves, fast enough that Stiles lets out a little squeak of surprise, until he’s kneeling between Stiles’ spread legs. “Can I?” He asks, putting his hands on the couch, either side of Stiles’ thighs. Stiles nods slowly, his eyes wide in anticipation as he fists his hands at his sides, presumably waiting to see what Derek’s going to do next.

Derek’s not entirely sure what’s he’s going to do next, and leans forward to press a gentle kiss against the inside of Stiles’ thigh, trailing the tip of his nose upwards slightly and smiling when Stiles moans above him. This close, the smell of Stiles’ pre-come, soaking through the fabric of his underwear, is intoxicating and Derek leans forward to mouth at Stiles’ cock through his boxers, groaning when Stiles’ taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck,” Stiles moans above him, his fingers twitching slightly as he keeps his reaches out and pulls his shirt higher, exposing his stomach. “Jesus, fuck, Derek, please?”

Derek slides his hands slowly up Stiles’ thighs, slipping his thumbs under the elastic of his waistband for a moment before tugging it down and hooking it beneath his balls. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of Stiles’ cock, curving upwards to leave slick smears of pre-come on the smooth skin of his abdomen. He’d been amused earlier, when Stiles had lain beside him, trailing a fingertip along his flaccid cock and muttering about how it was beautiful, but he kind of feels the same way about Stiles’ right now.

“Can I?” He asks, cautiously wrapping one hand around the base of Stiles’ cock and kneeling up slightly, licking his lips as Stiles goggles at him.

“Can you – yes, fuck yes, I believe you can,” Stiles replies breathily, lifting his ass off the couch slightly so the head of his dick just grazes against Derek’s lips, leaving that wonderful taste in its wake. Derek doesn’t need any more encouragement than that and lowers his head to drag the flat of his tongue slowly over Stiles’ leaking cock, savoring the taste of his pre-come on his tongue.

It’s not long before he’s bobbing his head in earnest, the sound of his own greedy moans drowning out any noises Stiles’ is making. He hears Stiles mumble his name, quickly followed by a sharp tug on his hair and looks up on him through his lashes.

“Gonna come,” Stiles gasps, a frown twitching across his face as Derek swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. “Can I?” He adds breathily, reaching out and tracing Derek’s lower lip where it’s stretched obscenely round his cock. Derek hums in affirmation, amused by the way Stiles groans at the sensation before redoubling his efforts. It’s only a matter of minutes before Stiles is coming, spurting hot down Derek’s throat as he twists his fingers into his hair and pulls hard. If hearing Stiles come apart over the phone had been one thing, watching it, not to mention tasting it, is something else entirely and Derek can’t help but stare up at him as his thighs tremble beneath his hands.

“Fuck me,” Stiles sighs, letting his head drop back against the couch cushions as he runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck me, that was – you’re amazing.”

Derek smiles up at him, lapping gently at Stiles’ softening cock until he can no longer taste any hint of come. He leans forwards and presses kisses against the flat of Stiles’ stomach before moving to join him on the couch, watching as Stiles tucks himself away again with shaky hands.

**:::**

Stiles wakes him up later that night after he falls asleep in his lap, pushing at him until he drowsily climbs the stairs up to Stiles’ room and flops down on the bed.

“You should have said you were so tired,” Stiles admonishes gently, tugging at Derek’s shirt as he yawns hugely.

“I did,” Derek replies, batting Stiles’ hands away and removing his own shirt. “Remember? When you wouldn’t believe that I had jet lag?”

“Three hour time difference,” Stiles reminds him as he shucks off his jeans for the second time that evening.

“Up at four AM,” Derek counters with a smirk.

“Yeah, OK, good point.” Stiles laughs and bends down to give him a quick kiss before muttering about needing the bathroom. As he listens to Stiles heading off down the landing, Derek strips off his jeans and slips into bed, feeling his eyes starting to slip shut the minute his head hits the pillow.

“Sorry in advance if I get all fidgety and kick you,” Stiles tells him as he slides under the comforter and turns off his bedside lamp.

“S’alright,” Derek murmurs, smiling to himself as Stiles’ shuffles backwards across the bed and into his personal space. He wraps one arm around his stomach to pull him closer, until Stiles’ back is flush with his chest and he can press lazy kisses against the back of his neck. “Missed this,” He mumbles as Stiles snuggles into his embrace.

“Ditto,” Stiles laughs softly. “I mean, I know we only slept together that one time, but yeah, I’ve missed this too. So much.”

Derek nods, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles’ neck and breathing in deeply. He can feel the heavy drag of sleep starting to pull him under again and sigh in contentment, sliding his foot between Stiles’ ankles.

“Hey,” Stiles murmurs, trailing his fingers up Derek’s forearm. “I know, um, I know I talked a lot on the phone about how we were going to do all the sex this weekend, but can we just –” he pulls Derek’s arm a little tighter around his waist, “– can we just do this tonight?”

“Yes,” Derek breathes quietly, letting his lips brush against Stiles’ neck, the faintest hint of a kiss. He hears Stiles relax at that and tightens his grip on him before closing his eyes and smiling happily against Stiles’ warm skin.

**:::**

Derek wakes slowly the next morning, stretching out under Stiles’ thick comforter before rolling onto his side so he can press his face against Stiles’ pillow. Stiles is downstairs, moving around the kitchen, by the sound of it, and Derek smiles to himself as he listens to him singing the Lucky Charms song to himself. After a minute, the singing stops and Derek can hear Stiles talking quietly to someone, presumably on his cell, because he definitely hasn’t heard anyone come into the house.

He can feel himself starting to drift off to sleep again, right up until he hears Stiles murmur his name to whoever he’s talking to. He lifts his head a little, to better listen to whatever Stiles is saying. He realizes it’s kind of unfair to Stiles to eavesdrop on his conversation, but he really wants to know what Stiles is saying about him.

**:::**

“What’s sex week?” Derek asks drowsily when Stiles reappears in the room and sits down on the bed beside him, crossing his legs and dumping something on his stomach. Derek raises his head slightly and grins when he sees a plate of poptarts, cherry and s’mores from the smell of them. Clearly some of Stiles’ questions had been preparation for this weekend.

“Kind of like Shark Week,” Stiles replies, without missing a beat as he breaks off a corner of one of the poptarts and shoves it in his mouth. “Only there’s less teeth and Discovery don’t dress their building up to look like it. You realize it’s rude to listen in to people’s calls, right?”

“You said my name,” Derek tells him. “To whoever it was you were talking to.”

“Scott,” Stiles informs him, “he wanted me to go hang out with him and Isaac later, but I told him I couldn’t on account of you being here.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here?”

“Told him the same as I told my Dad,” Stiles shrugs as Derek tugs at his shirt. “That you weren’t getting here until Tuesday afternoon. I kind of figured if I told him the actual truth, he’d end up blurting something out. You don’t mind do you?” He adds, shuffling down under the comforter and wrapping an arm around Derek’s shoulders as he moves closer.

“No,” Derek mutters, frowning against Stiles’ shirt when he realizes how uncertain he sounds. “Does Scott have a problem with us – this?”

“What? No!” Stiles replies. “Like I said, I just didn’t want him revealing all to my Dad, like he’s so good at doing. It’s like he’s got some sort of brain defect where if you tell him not to tell my Dad, his brain goes out of it’s way to blurt that shit out at the most inappropriate moment. Also, there’s an us?”

Derek ignores that, because that’s a conversation he’s desperate to have, but doesn’t think he can deal with just yet. “I don’t like sharks,” He hears himself muttering, and buries his face against Stiles’ chest to hide a groan at how stupid he sounds.

“OK,” Stiles says slowly, his finger’s stilling on Derek’s shoulder. “Is it because their teeth are more intimidating than your fangs? I bet it is, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s exactly why,” He laughs, pulling away from Stiles and lying down on his back. “No. Peter made me watch Jaws when I was a kid and it freaked me out.”

Stiles laughs at that, not unkindly, but as though he’s thrilled to be hearing something about Derek’s childhood. “I get that, man. I begged my Mom to let me watch Signs one night with her, just after she first got sick. Except apparently, aliens freak me the fuck out, and I ended up crying and wouldn’t sleep in my own bed for a week. Still can’t watch it without feeling panicky.”

“Aliens,” Derek repeats, raising an eyebrow. “How can you be scared of aliens?”

“How can you be scared of sharks?” Stiles counters, kicking him in the leg.

“Sharks are real,” Derek replies with a shrug. “Sharks kill people. Aliens aren’t real.”

“Funny, I remember thinking that exact same thing about werewolves once,” Stiles huffs. “And look how wrong I was there. So excuse me for being kind of cautious about the damn aliens. Mulder was definitely on to something, I’m telling you.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really. At least sharks have the decency to stay in the ocean,” Stiles continues. “Sharks don’t turn up in people’s bedrooms and snatch them out of their beds at night to fuck about with them.”

“Neither do aliens. Know why? Because they’re not real.”

He swats Stiles’ hand away when he pinches his side before turning his head to scowl at him.

“I can’t believe _you’re_ scared of sharks,” Stiles laughs, lunging over and pressing a loud, playful kiss against his cheek. “You’d win a fight against a shark every time.”

Derek huffs at him, trying to maintain his scowl but failing when Stiles grins hugely at him and instead settles for grabbing hold of his t-shirt and pulling him close so he can kiss him properly. It puts a sudden end to their argument, and Derek waits until Stiles is making bitten off whimpers and arching his hips off the bed before whispering in his ear how sharks are far scarier than aliens.

He’s licking back into Stiles’ mouth before he even has a chance for form an argument.

**:::**

They spend the day lounging around Stiles’ house, alternating between making out on the couch and playing increasingly competitive games of Marvel Vs Capcom on Stiles’ Xbox. Stiles, unsurprisingly, is a sore loser and goes to sulk in his bathroom for a half hour when Derek beats him one time too many.

“You can’t stay in there all day,” Derek points out to him through the closed door. “Because then I’d have to go out to get myself something for dinner and people would know I’m here.”

“You’re a dick,” Stiles calls back, but Derek can hear the sounds of him getting to his feet and the bolt on the other side of the door being drawn back.

“So are you,” He smirks when Stiles opens the door and scowls at him. “Are you really that upset?”

“Shut up,” Stiles grouses, his cheeks flushing even as Derek watches him. “You were playing as Deadpool. He’s my character.”

He cocks his head to one side and regards Stiles for a minute, his smirk becoming more of a soft smile when he realizes Stiles is serious, and that he’s seriously upset. “I’m sorry,” He says, holding a hand out to Stiles who takes it after a moment and steps into Derek’s personal space.

“I’m being really childish, aren’t I?” He asks as he drops his head onto Derek’s shoulder.

“Little bit,” Derek concedes, letting go of Stiles’ hand and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Can we give the Xbox a break for a bit?”

Stiles nods and lifts his head so he can kiss Derek, small and sweet, before looking up at him. His expression however, is anything but sweet and Derek allows himself to be walked backwards towards Stiles’ bedroom, feeling his cock twitch slightly at the smell of arousal coming from Stiles.

He lets Stiles push him down onto the bed, puts up no resistance when Stiles clambers into his lap and licks into his mouth. He grabs hold of Stiles’ ass and pulls him closer, moaning into Stiles’ mouth when he grinds down against his hardening cock.

“You feel good,” Stiles murmurs as he pulls away from Derek’s kisses and starts to press fleeting, hot kisses to the thin skin behind his ear. “Really, really good.” He punctuates his words with little rolls of his hips, smiling against Derek’s neck when he groans at the sensation.

Derek doesn’t reply, but starts grappling with the buttons of Stiles’ shirt instead, shoving it roughly off his shoulders and grazing the palms of his hands over Stiles’ pale skin.

“Can we –” Stiles starts, rocking down harder against Derek and gasping as he does so. “If you want – we can, um –”

“We can what?” Derek asks, leaning back a little and staring up at Stiles. He knows exactly what he’s hinting at, but wants to hear him say it.

“You know what,” Stiles complains with another roll of his hips.

“Tell me.”

“Sex,” Stiles murmurs, leaning forward so his hot breath ghosts across Derek’s ear. “Do you want to?”

Derek nods slowly, rocking up against Stiles as he listens to his heart rate speed up, because yes, yes he does want to do that.

**:::**

Only when it comes down to it, to the practicalities and mechanics of the whole thing, Stiles kind of freaks out a bit. More specifically, Stiles freaks out just as he starts to work a second lubed finger into Derek. He tries to pretend that he’s not freaking out, but Derek can hear his pulse starting to race, and the way his breathing is going irregular and reaches back to grab hold of Stiles’ wrist, grunting in discomfort when his fingers slip out of him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles lies, shoving at Derek’s hip and trying to get him to lie down again.

“Uh-huh,” Derek replies, scooting away from Stiles and sitting upright. He tries not to pay too much attention to how exposed, and not to mention empty, he feels right now. “I can _hear_ you freaking out.”

“I’m fine, turn over.”

“No. We’re not doing this if you’re freaking out.”

Stiles huffs loudly and dramatically but moves to lie down next to Derek anyway. “I’m going to do something wrong. Like horribly, mentally scarring wrong.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Derek tries, shuffling down until he can easily make eye contact with Stiles. “And I don’t get why you think you would.”

“Because I’ve never done this before,” Stiles tries. “And because I’m painfully aware that this is the first time in, like, I don’t actually know how long that you’ve had sex. Sex you want to have, I mean.”

Derek tries not to bristle at that, tries really hard, but something must show on his face because Stiles sort of shuts down a bit, dropping his gaze and refusing to look at Derek.

“Wow, I’m really just fucking this right up, aren’t I?” He mumbles. “I can drive you back to the airport if you want. Before I say anything else.”

Derek frowns at that before rolling over and nudging at Stiles’ cheek with the tip of his nose until he has no option but to look up at him. “You’re not fucking anything up. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. If you don’t feel ready for this.”

“That’s the problem,” Stiles sighs after a moment’s pause. “I do. Feel ready, I mean. I just feel kind of scared at the same time.” He watches Derek for a long time, chewing nervously at his bottom lip the whole while. “You could fuck me,” He mumbles at last, looking away from Derek again as he flushes.

“Is that what you want?” Derek asks. “Or are you just suggesting it because you think it might be what I want?”

“It’s what I want,” Stiles replies, his heartbeat even as he looks up at Derek through his lashes. “Come on, you must have realized I’ve been kind of desperate for that for like, a long while.”

Derek smiles, closing the gap between them and kissing Stiles gently. It’s not exactly how he’d hoped this would go, would much rather that it’d be Stiles topping, but he’ll take this instead, if it’s what Stiles wants. “What did you do with the lube?” He asks at last, propping himself up on his elbow as he watches Stiles prod through the mess in his bedside table, trying not to pay any attention to the vague feeling of disappointment washing over him, which becomes increasingly difficult to ignore when Stiles pointedly drops a condom onto his stomach.

**:::**

It’s not horrible, Derek finds himself thinking as he digs his fingers into Stiles’ hips and fucks into him, definitely not horrible. But not great either.

Well, not great for him at least. Stiles seems to be enjoying himself, if the moans spilling from his mouth are anything to go by and so Derek just keeps going, staring down at Stiles’ mole dotted back until he comes, his muscles clenching hard around Derek’s cock before he slumps forward into the pillows. Derek gives him a minute to come down before pulling out and flopping down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You didn’t come,” Stiles murmurs hoarsely as Derek sits up and pulls off the condom. “Why didn’t you come?”

“Don’t like topping,” Derek shrugs as he drops the condom onto Stiles’ bedside table before lying back down beside him. “Or condoms.” He looks over at Stiles, who has a small frown on his face and flops his arm across his chest, rubbing the back of his hand against Stiles’ little patch of chest hair. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t really like topping.”

“I didn’t think it was because of me,” Stiles replies slowly, linking his fingers with Derek’s and pulling his hand up so he can press a kiss against his knuckles. “If you don’t like it, why’d you do it?”

“Because you wanted me to.

“That’s not really how these things work dude,” Stiles tells him as he rolls onto his side and snuggles closer. “If you don’t like something, you don’t do it. You don’t just do it because you think it’s what I want. Please don’t do that again.” He gives Derek’s hand a small squeeze before pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder.

“You’re making it sound worse than it is,” Derek sighs as he hooks his ankle over Stiles’ leg. “I wanted to, I just don’t like it much.”

“So what do you like?”

“Being with you.”

“No but you know, sexually. What do you want to do?”

“Whatever you want to do,” Derek replies, feeling slightly embarrassed; he’s never really been asked that before and isn’t really sure how to answer Stiles’ question.

“No!” Stiles complains, untangling himself from Derek and sitting upright. “That’s exactly what you’re not supposed to say!” He seems to realize suddenly that he’s still naked and grabs for his pillow, covering his lap with it before frowning at Derek. “Come on, all those times we, you know, on the phone, didn’t you at least think about what you’d want to do if we were together?”

“Course I did,” Derek huffs as he covers his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just – why do you want to know?”

“Um, so we can do it?” Stiles replies slowly, like he’s talking to a complete imbecile. “Wait, it’s not something weird, is it?”

“What? No!”

“So tell me,” Stiles tells him, dropping his pillow to the floor and lying back down beside Derek. He tentatively moves his hand across Derek’s stomach. “Please?” That last word is whispered and he turns his head to make eye contact as he says it. Derek worries at his bottom lip when he sees the concerned expression on Stiles’ face and gives in to the urge to lean over and kiss him.

“You don’t have to do something just because I want to do it,” Derek starts as he rolls over and slides his hand up Stiles’ arm.

“Yeah, I think I already made that point,” Stiles replies with a small huff of laughter, nuzzling his nose against Derek’s. “Hypocrite.”

Derek scowls. “Do you want to hear or not?”

“All ears,” Stiles grins, moving his leg until he’s got his thigh wedged between Derek’s and is nudging up against his half hard cock.

“I just, um,” Derek starts, tightening his thighs around Stiles’ to stop him from moving. “I kind of thought about, um, jerking off,” he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before continuing, “on you. Sorry.”

“We can do that.”

“I know it’s kind of – what?”

“I said we can do that. You can do that, I guess. Sounds like there’s not a great deal of effort required on my part,” he prods at Derek’s ribs until he opens his eyes and looks at him again. “There isn’t, right? Do I have to just lay there and look pretty?”

“Shut up,” Derek laughs closing the gap between them and kissing Stiles so he has to stop talking. He can feel himself getting harder just at the thought of being allowed to act out that particular fantasy, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Stiles, who snakes his hand down between them to curl his fingers around Derek’s cock. Just as Derek’s starting to get into it, rocking his hips to thrust into Stiles’ loose fist, Stiles pulls away, rolling onto his back and smirking.

“Come on then,” he grins, spreading his arms wide to expose his chest. “Literally.”

“You’re sure?”

“Getting cold here,” Stiles grumbles, pulling at Derek’s arm. “Do your thang.”

Derek moves, swinging on leg over Stiles and kneeling over him while he tries to fight down the feeling of supreme awkwardness.

“You’re not going to crush me if you sit on me, you know,” Stiles murmurs, sliding his hands up Derek’s thighs before applying pressure to his hips. Derek takes the hint, settling himself gingerly on Stiles stomach before wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking himself slowly. “God, you look amazing right now,” Stiles sighs happily, sliding his hands from Derek’s hips to his ass and squeezing gently.

“So do you,” Derek replies quietly, running his free hand across Stiles’ chest and enjoying the way he flushes at the compliment. He moves his hand faster, biting his lip to stop himself from moaning. He can hear Stiles murmuring something along the lines of ‘so fucking hot’ but ignores it, focusing on the way Stiles is lifting his hips slightly, his cock growing harder as he does so.

“Um, sorry,” Stiles whispers, his eyes going wide as the head of his cock slips between Derek’s ass cheeks and grazes across his hole, making Derek gasp.

“Don’t be,” Derek replies breathily, shuffling a little further back to try and chase that same sensation. “Feels good.”

Stiles nods up at him, tightening his grip on Derek’s ass and bucking his hips up again. They settle into a desperate rhythm, Derek jerking himself hurriedly as Stiles thrusts up against him. Stiles’ cock is steadily leaking pre-come between his ass cheeks, and the smell of it, combined with the slick, teasing slide of his cock over his hole is driving Derek crazy.

“Derek,” Stiles murmurs in a low voice, “Derek, I’m gonna – you’re gonna make me come.”

“Good,” Derek manages to gasp, his stomach muscles clenching as his orgasm builds. He watches as Stiles’ eyes go wide and he bucks up off the bed, coming with a small grunt. Derek moans loudly at the feeling of Stiles’ come running warm over his hole and hurriedly shuffles forwards, screwing his eyes tight shut as he comes hard, spurting across Stiles’ chest. He takes his weight on his free hand as he shakes the last few drops out into Stiles’ stomach.

“Dude,” Stiles laughs, reaching up and cupping Derek’s cheek in his hand. “Dude, you got some on my chin.”

Derek opens his eyes, ducking his head to hide a smirk when he sees that there is indeed a blob of come on Stiles chin and he reaches up to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb before leaning down to kiss Stiles, bracketing his arms on either side of Stiles’ chest to keep himself clear of the mess.

“Only fair,” Derek murmurs, his lips brushing against Stiles’, “After all, you came on my ass.”

He laughs when Stiles groans loudly, giving him another quick kiss before getting off the bed and muttering about needing to use the bathroom.

When he gets back, he finds Stiles happily rubbing his come over his skin, matting the hair on his chest.

“This isn’t totally weird, is it?” He asks tentatively as Derek sits down beside him, carding his hand through his hair.

“Makes you smell like me,” Derek points out with a frown.

“Good.”

“I liked that,” Derek continues quietly, leaning down to grab Stiles’ discarded shirt from the floor and using it to wipe the last of the come off his chest. “The way you came on me. _Where_ you came on me.”

“Yeah, well, you have a sinfully nice ass,” Stiles replies as he stretches luxuriously, putting Derek in mind of the old stray cat that used to hang out on their back porch when he was a kid. “So you can’t really blame me for that.”

“Thought about other stuff too,” Derek adds as he reaches down for the comforter and pulls it up and over them before snuggling into Stiles’ side. “When we were talking on the phone.”

“Tell me.”

“Thought about you coming on me,” Derek murmurs, closing his eyes and focusing on the way Stiles is gently trailing kisses across his shoulder. “In – in me.”

He turns his head away to hide the embarrassed grin that spreads across his face at the sound of Stiles’ heart rate speeding up, followed by a little grunt of surprise. “Um, yeah, I can – we can – that’s –”

“Take your time.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles laughs, nipping mischievously at his shoulder. “Yeah. I want to do those things. To you. With you.”

Derek pulls him into a tight hug, and wonders, not for the first time since he arrived, how he’s ever going to be able to leave at the end of the week.

**:::**

Derek wakes up that night to find himself alone in Stiles bed; he can hear his heartbeat close by though and doesn’t worry too much.

After ten minutes in which Stiles still hasn’t come back to bed, he rolls over, squinting at the bright, bluish light coming from Stiles laptop screen.

“Hey,” he asks, leaning over as far as he can to put a hand on Stiles’ thigh, “you ok?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Stiles replies, covering Derek’s hand with his own but refusing to take his eyes off the screen.

“Nightmare?” Derek asks through a yawn as he watches Stiles intently. Stiles just nods in response, biting at his thumbnail while he continues to stare at his laptop.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” he finally sighs when Derek squeezes his leg gently. “You looked all oddly peaceful.”

“Are you OK?” Derek asks again, feeling thrown by the way Stiles’ pulse is still racing.

“Will be. Go back sleep. I’ll be fine,” he swivels his desk chair round as he says it, forcing Derek to move his hand away.

“Come back to bed?” Derek asks quietly, shuffling over and lifting up one corner of the comforter. Stiles seems to hesitate for a moment before nodding and moving from his chair to slide in beside Derek; he lets Derek wrap an arm around his shoulder and wedges his feet between his legs, wriggling his toes and making Derek hiss in shock.

“Why are you so cold?” Derek grouses, trying to pull his legs away from Stiles, who just squirms across the bed after him, trying to get his feet warm again.

“I can’t help being cold,” Stiles grumbles. “It’s not my fault.”

“You can help making me cold too though,” Derek sighs in resignation as Stiles’ toes make their way under his leg again. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles mumbles against his chest, his cold fingers skating across Derek’s stomach to nudge under the waistband of his underwear. He can hear the lie, feels Stiles go tense beside him but doesn’t challenge it. If Stiles doesn’t want to tell him, he’s not going to push him to talk about it. “I didn’t think it’d happen while you were here. I slept all the way through the night last night. Well, you know, besides when we were both awake. Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Waking up. Disturbing you. Being fucked up. Take your pick.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Derek replies with a frown, rolling onto his side and wrapping his free arm around Stiles’ waist. When Stiles makes disbelieving huffing noise, he leans forward and kisses him softly, sucking lightly on Stiles’ bottom lip for a moment before releasing it.

He half expects Stiles to pull away, to start arguing with him, but instead he tangles his hands in Derek’s hair and pulls him in for a desperate kiss.

It doesn’t take long before Stiles is shoving at Derek’s underwear in frustration, muttering about how he looks much better naked. Derek lets him drag them off, and obediently pulls Stiles’ shirt over his head when he holds his arms up and makes a pathetic whining noise. He lies back down, watching Stiles as he kicks and struggles his way out of his own underwear, trying to stay beneath the comforter the whole time before draping himself half over Derek’s side, his half hard cock nudging against his hip. Derek wastes no time in dragging him close for another kiss, pulling gently at Stiles until he’s lying fully on top of him, moaning as their cocks rub together.

“God,” Stiles whispers against his lips, his fingers tangled in Derek’s hair, “I really want to fuck you right now.” He emphasizes his words with a little roll of his hips, smiling happily when Derek groans.

“N-now?” Derek asks as Stiles continues to grind against him. “You sure?”

“Only if you want,” Stiles whispers into his mouth.

Derek pulls back slightly to look at him, smiles at the way Stiles is nervously worrying at his bottom lip, his hips stilling as Derek watches him. “Never wanted anything more,” he admits, lifting his hand to cup Stiles’ cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip.

**:::**

It feels like it takes a lifetime for Stiles to open him up, all gentle fingers and slow touches, whispering little encouragements as he mouths at the back of Derek’s neck, at his shoulders, ghosting his lips over the spirals of his tattoo. Rationally, Derek knows that it doesn’t take that long before he’s stretched open, pushing back greedily against Stiles’ fingers, but the maddeningly slow pace at which Stiles is moving sure makes it feel like it’s taking forever.

“M’ready,” he mumbles, his voice muffled where his head is resting on his folded arms. “Hurry up.”

“Thought I was supposed to be the impatient one,” Stiles whispers, leaning forward so he’s sprawled across Derek’s back, his fingers still working slow circles against his prostate. “Just want to make sure you’re OK.”

“Very OK,” Derek replies, turning his head to the side and humming happily when Stiles presses a kiss against his cheek. “I just want –“

“I want to too,” Stiles says quietly, rolling his hips so his erect cock nudges against Derek’s ass cheek. “Just don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.”

He feels Stiles nod, feels another fleeting kiss against his shoulder before Stiles moves, kneeling up between his legs. Derek clenches his muscles around Stiles’ fingers, smirking into the pillow when Stiles makes a small, affronted noise at the sensation.

“And you’re definitely sure you’re ready?” Stiles asks again as he starts to withdraw his fingers.

Derek nods enthusiastically as Stiles’ fingers slip out of him, leaving him with an uncomfortable empty feeling. He feels Stiles brush against him as he leans forward to yank open the drawer in his bedside table.

“What’re –” Derek starts, looking over his shoulder and scowling when Stiles holds up a condom, the little foil square rustling between his fingers. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Derek replies as he rolls over until he’s flat on his back staring up at Stiles. “I, um, never mind.”

“No, not never mind,” Stiles huffs, settling back between Derek’s spread thighs and stroking his cock while he watches him intently. “What?”

“Prefer it without,” Derek mumbles with a vague gesture towards the condom Stiles is still twisting between his fingers. “Don’t worry about it though.”

“You’re clean, right?” Stiles asks, glancing from the condom to Derek. “Of diseases and stuff?”

Derek nods slowly, deciding not to bother explaining that it’s not possible for him to catch the diseases Stiles is talking about in the first place. That’s a conversation they can have another time. He watches in nervous anticipation as Stiles takes one last look at the condom before tossing it to the floor and scrabbling amongst the sheets for the lube.

“Like this?” He asks, sliding one hand up Derek’s thigh as he slicks his cock with lube. Derek nods, letting his legs fall open further, a move that elicits a thoroughly pornographic moan from Stiles.

“So, um, you’ll tell me, right?” Stiles continues as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and presses up against Derek’s hole, the head just nudging in bluntly before he goes still and stares down at Derek. “You know, if I do it wrong.”

“You won’t,” Derek assures him, canting his hips upwards so Stiles’ cock slides a little further in. The stretch makes him gasp; he knows Stiles isn’t exactly small, having given him two jaw-aching blow jobs since he arrived on Friday, but it still takes him by surprise.

“What?” Stiles asks, his eyes going wide and panicky, “what am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Derek replies, curling his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulling him down so he can kiss him. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re – it’s perfect.”

Stiles watches him for a moment before nodding uncertainly and pressing in a little further, his eyes fixed on Derek’s the whole time. Derek responds by lifting his legs off the bed and wrapping them around Stiles’ hips, forcing him to move faster until he bottoms out.

“Ever occur to you that maybe I wasn’t going slow for your benefit?” Stiles gasps as he drops his head, resting his sweaty forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “Asshole.”

Derek nudges at the side of his jaw with his nose, until Stiles turns his head and kisses him, sloppy and slightly desperate.

“Some of us have never done this before and, yeah, OK, it’s kind of overwhelming,” He mutters when he pulls away from Derek. “Please just gimme a minute?”

Derek nods, smoothing his hands down Stiles’ back as he presses kisses against his shoulder and neck. He’s desperate for Stiles to move; he’s finding it hard to focus on anything except the deep ache of Stiles stretching him wide open, that almost painful feeling that’s promising to give way to something far better the minute Stiles starts moving.

And then finally, just as Derek starts to think that he’s about to lose his mind from the anticipation, Stiles starts to thrust into him. It’s kind of sloppy, and more than a little erratic, but above all, it’s perfect. He hitches his legs up a little higher, which pulls Stiles further in and forces a loud, involuntary moan out of him; Stiles is starting to get sweaty from the effort and Derek’s hand slips as he tries to get a grip on the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss.

Stiles is apparently too focused on what he’s doing to kiss Derek back properly, and they end up just breathing into each other’s mouths as Stiles’ movements start to take on an even more desperate quality, his breath hitching in the increasingly familiar way that Derek knows means he’s getting close. He manages to work his hand down in between them, wrapping his fingers around his cock and jacking himself quickly.

“Gonna come,” Stiles mumbles into his ear before he takes his weight on his hands and pushes himself up a fraction of an inch; Derek’s not sure if that’s to give him more room, or so Stiles can fuck into him harder. Either way, he likes it. He can just feel his orgasm starting to build when Stiles thrusts one last time and goes still, his eyes wide and an expression of shock on his face.

“Don’t,” He almost yelps when Stiles moves like he’s about to pull out; Stiles clearly gets the message because he starts to move his hips again. It doesn’t feel quite as good to Derek as it did a few moments ago when Stiles was hard, but it’s still enough to push him over the edge and he comes gasping out Stiles’ name, his hips arching off the bed.

“So,” Stiles mumbles as his arms give out and he flops down onto Derek’s messy chest. “That was kind of awesome.”

Derek nods in reply, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of his cooling come sticking them together as he slides both his hands up into Stiles’ hair and pulls him down for a kiss. There’s a lot of things he wants to say to Stiles right now, that involves profession of certain feelings, but he can’t quite seem to find the right words and pours everything he can into their kiss, hoping that Stiles will get it.

**:::**

The next two days pass in a blissful haze of takeaways and lazy sex. Despite all of Stiles’ best efforts, Derek flat out refuses to have sex anywhere but in his bedroom. The lounge and den both smell too much like Stiles’ father for Derek to be able to relax and actually enjoy himself. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind too much, and happily lets Derek push him down onto the bed so he can ride him.

“I think you should be in my bed all the time,” Stiles mumbles afterwards, his words muffled by the huge bite he’s just taken out of his slice of pizza. “Because, you know, these last few days have taught me that sex is awesome. And that sex with you is extra awesome.”

Derek nods in agreement, scowling when a chunk of sausage falls off his pizza slice and onto his chest. Stiles grabs for it and shoves it in his mouth before Derek has a chance to do anything.

“You’re disgusting.”

“So’s your face. So can I ask something?”

“Don’t think I can stop you.”

“Is this pizza living up to your New York pizza snob standards.”

“Sure,” Derek replies, licking a blob of sauce from the side of his hand. “It’s just the company that’s not.” He likes this, teasing Stiles. Because it makes him pout and grumble, and Derek’s fairly certain he’s not supposed to use the words ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’ to refer to teenage boys, but Stiles’ pouting is exactly that.

“Can I ask something else?”

“Again, can I stop you?”

“I’m being serious this time,” Stiles grouses, taking the pizza box off Derek’s lap and dropping it onto the floor beside the bed. “I know you said you don’t like it much, and you’re one hundred percent free to say no to this, but at least think about it, OK?”

“OK,” Derek hazards.

“Can we try it again? You topping? While we’ve still got the place to ourselves I mean.”

Derek nods slowly as he slips his arm under the covers and drapes it across Stiles’ waist, rubbing at his hip bone with his thumb. “OK. Yeah, OK. We can try again.”

Stiles smiles warmly at him, wrapping both arms around his shoulder and pulling him into a hug, his chin resting on top of Derek’s head. “If you start hating it though, you’ve got to promise you’ll stop, OK?”

“I will.”

“I mean it,” Stiles continues, doing something weird with his jaw so his chin rubs against Derek’s scalp. “I’m much more into sex that you actually want to be having that sex you feel like you should be having to make me happy.”

“Point taken.”

“Good.”

**:::**

“I get that this apparently makes me smell awesome to you,” Stiles complains, scratching at the drying, flaky patches of come on his stomach, “but honestly, it’s starting to feel kind of gross.”

Derek can’t be bothered responding properly to that and just makes a derisive snorting noise.

“Seriously,” Stiles continues, kicking Derek in the leg. “It’s gross. Look, it’s like, glued all the hair on my belly to my skin. Is this why you wax your chest?”

“Yes,” Derek sighs as he throws an arm over his face to block out the light. “That’s exactly why. Go take a shower if it bothers you that much.”

“Come with me?” Stiles asks softly as he gropes for Derek’s hand and tangles their fingers together before pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder. Derek groans, turning towards Stiles and trying to kick the comforter up and over them.

“Your shower is too small for both of us,” He grouses, frowning when Stiles stops him from throwing the comforter over him.

“No shit. The bathtub isn’t too small though.”

“There isn’t a bathtub in your bathroom,” Derek says through a yawn.

“No, but there is in the main bathroom.”

Before Derek can say anything else, Stiles has rolled off the bed and disappeared down the hall. Derek rolls over and buries his face into Stiles’ pillow, taking a few deep breaths before deciding that following Stiles into the bathroom is probably going to be infinitely more fun than lying in bed listening to Stiles take a bath.

"Nice bath," Derek says lamely as he trails into the bathroom behind Stiles. He's been avoiding using the main bathroom these last few days, preferring to use the smaller one next to Stiles' bedroom.

"Doesn't really get used anymore," Stiles comments, nodding for Derek to sit down on the closed toilet seat before wandering out of the room, continuing to talk as he pads down the hall. "My Dad got it put in for my Mom when she got sick. She couldn't - by the end, she couldn't really stand up in the shower so, yeah," he ambles back into the room and kicks at the bath panel with his socked foot, "one giant luxury tub that hardly ever gets used now. It has Jacuzzi functions and everything," He adds, gesturing to the buttons at one end.

Derek watches Stiles' back as he squeezes a liberal amount of shower gel into the swirling water, watches the way he tenses slightly as he states down at the bubbles starting to form and leans forward, curling his hand around Stiles’ hip and applying a gentle pressure until he takes a step backwards.

"Hi," Derek says stupidly when Stiles sits down heavily in his lap and loops one arm around his shoulder.

"Hi."

"You ok?" He noses at a spot just below Stiles' ear, just letting his parted lips drag over his warm skin. Stiles nods, shivering when Derek lowers his head and presses a small kiss against the hollow of his throat.

"This is corny, right? Taking a bath together?"

Derek just shrugs, continuing to trail fleeting kisses across Stiles’ collarbone. He doesn’t particularly care if other people would find this corny. He just wants to get to be as close to Stiles as possible, as often as possible while he’s still got the chance.

All too soon for his liking, Stiles is moving, sliding off his lap and shutting off the water. Turning away from Derek, he shucks off his pajama pants and hurriedly clambers into the bath, as though he’s trying to hide his nudity.

“You going to get in or sit there and stare all day?” Stiles asks after a moment while he scrubs at the patches of dried come on his stomach.

“Sitting and staring all day works for me,” Derek replies as he slowly gets to his feet and pulls his shirt off, scowling when Stiles flicks water at him. “Dick.”

Stiles grins wolfishly at him and leans over and grabs for the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down and dripping water all over the floor in the process. “Get in the damn tub Derek.”

Derek does as he’s told and gets in the damn tub, hunching forward as he sits down because the taps are directly behind him and he really doesn’t want to lean back against them. There’s just enough room for him to sit comfortably if he slides his legs underneath Stiles’, pressing their knees together in the process.

“This is kind of weird, huh?” Stiles asks, moving his hand underwater and sending a small wave sloshing over Derek’s knees.

“I don’t know,” Derek replies with a smile as he feels Stiles’ foot brushing against the side of his leg. “I kind of like it.”

Stiles grins at that and reaches for Derek’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he leans back against the end of the bath, his eyes closed.

“How come you wax your chest?” Stiles asks a few minutes later, his eyes still closed.

“Just do.”

He frowns down at the bath water, watching the bubbles as they start to dissipate, he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t noticed the way Stiles has just lifted his head and is watching him through narrowed eyes. “Why do you care?” He mutters, glancing up at Stiles.

“Just do,” Stiles replies with a slight smirk. “I like knowing things about you, OK?”

Derek pulls his hand away from Stiles’, shoving both hands through his hair as in his head, he hears Jeph’s voice reminding him that it’s OK for him to open up to people and be vulnerable. That it's healthy. “It’s stupid,” He sighs. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

“Ka – someone told me once that girls don’t like body hair on guys and it just kind of stuck,” He glares down at his hands and forces himself not to react when Stiles scoots forward and rests his hands on his knees, sliding them down his thighs after a moment's hesitation. “See, I told you,” He mutters. “Stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Stiles replies softly as he continues to trail his fingers through the hair on Derek’s thighs, the warm water doing nothing to dull the sensation. “And just for the record, you shouldn’t let things that stupid bitch said to you control your life. You should do what makes you happy, fuck what anyone else thinks.”

Derek shrugs, because he wishes it was as easy as Stiles makes it sound, to just forget, to change the habits of, well, not a life time, but the last seven years at least.

“So,” Stiles continues as he drags his fingernails up the inside of Derek’s thighs. “If you didn’t wax, how hairy would your chest be?”

“Hairier than yours,” Derek replies with a grin as he leans forward and touches the patch of hair in the middle of Stiles’ chest. That just earns him a scowl and a pinch to the inside of his thigh for his troubles. He lunges forwards, his grin widening at the affronted squeaking sound Stiles makes in response and kisses him, shuffling around until he’s kneeling between Stiles’ spread legs. There’s water sloshing all over the bathroom, and his knees keep slipping on the bottom of the bathtub but he doesn’t care, and from the sounds Stiles is making, neither does he.

Eventually, reluctantly, they break apart and Derek sits back on his heels, noticing goose bumps start to appear on Stiles’ upper arms.

“God, I really –” Stiles starts before his eyes go wide and a brilliant flush covers his cheeks, the smile slipping from his face as Derek watches him..

“You really what?”

“Need to get out of this tub,” Stiles replies, keeping his gaze averted. “I’m freezing.”

Derek nods slowly and hops out of the bath with ease, grabbing a towel from the rail as Stiles follows. He’s got a fairly good idea what Stiles had been about to say, is nearly one hundred percent certain that it’s the same thing he wants to tell Stiles, and he hates that neither of them seem to be able to actually say those three little words aloud. Before he can get too lost in his own thoughts, Stiles takes a step forward, pressing him up against the sink and kissing him hungrily, his hands wandering down Derek’s back to squeeze his ass through the towel.

He lets Stiles walk him backwards towards his bedroom, lets him push him down on the bed and straddle his hips, drags his fingernails down Stiles’ back as he licks into his mouth, thinking all the while that he’s going to tell Stiles exactly how he feels about him before he leaves, even if it kills him.

**:::**

Derek wonders, later that night when Stiles is curled into his side, head resting on his chest, if this is what he’ll miss more when he goes back to New York, the quiet little moments rather than the sex. Right now though, he’s so distracted by the sound of Stiles’ breathing, and by the way he keeps trailing his fingertips lightly over his skin that he’s not even sure if what they’re watching on Stiles’ TV is a movie or a TV show.

Neither of them have gotten dressed since they got out of the bath earlier and Derek loves it, loves that for all he insists that he’s always cold, Stiles is red hot against him where their bodies touch.

The same huge and overwhelming feeling from before is welling up in his chest again and it’s stopping him from being able to focus on whatever it is Stiles is saying to him. He knows exactly what that feeling is and it’s terrifying him, because he so badly wants to say it, to tell Stiles how he feels but can’t quite find the right words. It’s something he’s talked about a few times with Jeph, about how scared he is to use _that_ word, not just to Stiles, but in general, because the last person he said it to, and thought that he meant it, was Kate.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even register that Stiles has just asked him a question until he sits up suddenly and glares at him.

“What?”

“I said do you want to get food sometime soon,” Stiles repeats, rolling his eyes dramatically. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing,” Derek replies, feeling himself flush even as he says it. “Food sounds good. What do you want?”

Stiles shrugs and shuffles around a little bit until he’s facing Derek, looking completely unabashed when the comforter slides off his lap leaving him naked in front of Derek, his pale skin warmed slightly by the soft light of the room. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” Derek admits, pulling his hand free from under the covers so he can rest it on Stiles’ knee.

“Good things?”

Derek nods slowly, smiling at the happy expression that crosses Stiles’ face. He wonders if he’ll look that happy if he ever manages to actually tell him how he feels about him.

“We could get something from that Indian place again,” Stiles continues as he smiles down at Derek, reaching over and covering Derek’s hand with his own. “That shit was good.”

“Whatever you want,” Derek replies. He frowns when Stiles untangles their fingers and slips off the bed, grabbing his laptop from where it’s charging on the desk but still takes the opportunity to stare openly at Stiles’ ass.

**:::**

He can feel Stiles getting hard as he kisses the back of his neck, and pushes back against him, drawing a moan out of him. When Stiles stills for a moment, Derek lifts his leg up slightly and moves back again, a low moan escaping his lips when Stiles’ cock slips between his ass cheeks and nudges against his balls.

“You want to?” Stiles ask softly, his hips moving almost imperceptibly as he continues to mouth at the back of Derek’s neck.

“Please,” Derek hears himself whisper, making an almost-whimper of disappointment when Stiles pulls away to root around in his bedside table for some lube.

It seems to take no time at all for Stiles to stretch him open, nipping at the back of Derek’s shoulder when he pushes back greedily against his fingers. Even so, he still gasps when Stiles starts to push into him, mostly because of how good it feels. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the feeling of Stiles inside of him. The groan that Stiles’ makes when he finally bottoms out is completely obscene, and makes Derek’s cock twitch in anticipation. Before he can wrap his hand around himself, Stiles has batted his hand away and curled his fingers around his cock, stroking slowly as he starts to move his hips, not so much thrusting as rocking gently into Derek.

It’s possibly the slowest, most deliciously torturous sex Derek has ever had. Despite all the breathy whimpering noises he’s making, Stiles seems content to keep moving at a snail’s pace, no matter how much Derek tries to push back against him to speed him up. He hears himself gasping out Stiles’ name, begging him to go faster as he moves forward a fraction of an inch before trying to thrust his hips back against Stiles’. To his horror, Stiles _stops_ completely at that, his thumb pressed hard against the underside of the head of his cock as his ragged breath warms the back of Derek’s neck.

“Please?” He murmurs feebly, reaching back to curl his fingers around Stiles’ hip to try and encourage him to move. It has no affect, and it’s only when another desperate plea escapes his mouth that Stiles starts to move again, keeping up his slow, measured pace. Derek can’t decide if this is the best thing or the worst thing that has ever happened to him and isn’t helped by the fact that Stiles’ cock is pressing directly against his prostate and is dragging across it slowly every time Stiles rocks into him. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time and he can’t really do anything but lie there and attempt to stifle the embarrassing moaning noises he’s making as Stiles keeps on fucking into him.

It’s overwhelming; he can feel his orgasm starting to pool low in his belly and curls his toes into the sheets, hears himself moaning Stiles’ name repeatedly, begging him to move faster, to jack his cock harder. Stiles doesn’t do either, but does lean closer to whisper in Derek’s ear about how he’s about to come before dropping his head to bite down where his neck meets his shoulder.

That does it for Derek and he comes with something closer to a sob than a moan, white streaks across pale blue sheets, his whole body trembling as Stiles continues to stroke him through the aftershocks, going still and stiff behind Derek as he comes too, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin of Derek’s neck.

“Did I break you?” Stiles asks in a hoarse whisper, nuzzling the tip of his nose into Derek’s hair.

“Not broken,” He replies, tightening his grip on Stiles’ hip when he goes to pull out; that’s the one thing he hates about having sex with Stiles, the aching empty feeling he’s left with when Stiles eventually pulls out. “Don’t. Please.”

Stiles hums in agreement as he moves his hand away from Derek’s cock and hugs him tightly. “It’ll happen eventually,” He says teasingly, fingers trailing through the line of hair on Derek’s stomach. “And you’re sleeping in the wet patch.”

“Fine.”

**:::**

"We're not taking the Jeep?" Derek asks as Stiles grabs a different set of keys from the hooks by the door to the garage, keys that don’t have a plastic skull keychain hanging off them. The last four days have gone past way too quick for his liking and if he’s honest, he’s not looking to Stiles’ Dad getting back and being relegated to the guest room for the last five days of his visit. He’s gotten far too used to sleep with Stiles, too used to the feel of Stiles’ arm around his waist, his breath warm on the back of his neck.

"My Dad hates riding in the Jeep," Stiles replies, pulling a face as he locks the door behind them. "According to him, she’s a death trap. But we both know that's not true, don't we baby?" That last bit is directed towards the car, and Derek rolls his at the sight of Stiles hugging his Jeep, his arms spread wide across the hood.  
  
"Anything’s a death trap the way you drive," Derek teases as he tugs on the back of Stiles’ shirt until he lets go of his car and unlocks his Dad's truck.

He’s proved right by the time they’re out of town and onto the highway, heading for the airport. Sure, Stiles’ Dad’s truck might be roughly a million times more comfortable than the Jeep, and a hell of a lot quieter too, but it doesn’t stop Stiles from cutting up three different people by the time they’re fifteen minutes from the airport.

“Should have let me drive,” Derek mutters as yet another person sounds their horn at Stiles.

“That was totally her fault,” Stiles grouses, giving the old lady undertaking them the finger.

Derek snorts in derision, resting his chin on his hand and staring out of the window at the trees and fields flashing by, listening to the sound of Stiles drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“What are we telling your Dad?” Derek asks suddenly, looking away from the window and over at Stiles.

“What do you mean, what are we telling my Dad?” Stiles frowns, mercifully keeping his eyes on the road. “He already knows you’re staying.”

“I mean about us.”

“OK, again, he knows we’ve – uh, that there’s feelings and stuff, I guess.”

Derek pulls a face and looks back out at the road. “Pull over,” He yelps a few minutes later when he spots a sign for a rest stop. Stiles does so, not bothering with turn signals as he bumps into the empty parking lot.

“Want to tell me why we’re stopping here?” He asks, cutting the engine and leaning on the steering wheel.

“I just –” Derek starts, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “Do you think your Dad would be happier if this was – if we were, um, together? Properly?”

“As opposed to?”

“As opposed to I flew clean across the country for a few days of sex,” Derek huffs, glaring down at his knees and picking at imaginary lint.

“I’m not sure I get what’s happening here,” Stiles starts, sitting back in his seat as he continues to stare straight ahead. “Are you suggesting we should pretend to my Dad that we’re actually together so he doesn’t think we’re just, I dunno, fuck buddies or something?”

“No,” Derek snaps, because that’s not what he means at all and now Stiles has broken out the ‘fuck buddies’ phrase, he’s wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake even bringing this up. “Is that what this is to you? Fuck buddies?”

“What? No! I don’t know what this is. I don’t know why you made me pull off the highway in the first place,” Stiles replies heatedly, sounding upset. “So maybe instead of being a dick, you could tell me what the hell you’re talking about instead of trying to make me guess.”

“Just forget it.”

“No. Tell me.”

“Forget it,” Derek repeats quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Derek,” Stiles snaps, “Just tell me for fuck’s sake. Stop being cryptic and annoying.”

“I was going to say I want this to be an actual real thing,” Derek says heatedly. “That I don’t want to go back this time not knowing where things stand between us and that I want something real, but apparently I’m just cryptic and annoying, so why would you want that?”

“Are you asking me –” Stiles starts, his eyes going wide. “You sound like you’re threatening to ask me to be your boyfriend. Is that what you’re trying to do right now?”

“What? No,” Derek lies quickly.

“Oh.”

Stiles’ ‘oh’ is like a blow to the solar plexus, and Derek feels himself go cold at the pained sniff Stiles gives as he reaches for the keys. Derek’s faster though, and snatches the keys from the ignition, shoving them deep into his jacket pocket. “You don’t want to be, do you?”

“Give those back.”

“Answer the question first.”

“Fine. Maybe if you actually wanted that, I’d say yes. But I’m not going to admit that I do when you just want to be able to say to my Dad that we’re not just screwing around.”

“That’s not what I said,” Derek snaps, raising his voice slightly as he scowls at Stiles. “Are you too busy being an idiot to remember the part where I said I want this to be a real relationship?”

“No!” Stiles yells back, slapping the middle of the steering wheel so hard Derek worries he might trigger the air bag. “No I didn’t forget that part at all. I want that too, you fucking moron.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Stiles says with a scowl. “So ask me again. Properly.”

“Do you want to be?”

“Want to be what?” Stiles snaps, making a ‘carry on’ gesture with his hand.

“My boyfriend,” Derek mumbles, feeling his cheeks flush a hot, brilliant red.

“Yes.”

“Even though I’m a fucking moron?” He adds, looking up at Stiles through his lashes.

“Kind of why I like you,” Stiles smiles shyly, reaching for Derek’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Derek raises Stiles’ hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across Stiles’ knuckles and smiling when he hears his heart beat speed up at the gesture.

A few minutes later, they’re back on the highway, Stiles singing along happily to the radio as Derek texts Cora.

To Cora – 11:47am  
You were right.

From Cora – 11:51am  
 _I’m always right >^o^<_

From Cora – 11:51am  
 _Right about what?_

To Cora – 11:53am  
He said yes. When I asked him.

From Cora – 11:57am  
 _Bout time you got your shit together. Congrats :) x_

Derek laughs at that and drops his phone into the center console. He hears Stiles’ cell beep a few minutes later and is surprised when Stiles holds it out to him, asking him to read the message to him. He’s even more surprised to find out that Stiles’ passcode is his birthday, and thoroughly unsurprised to find out that it’s Cora who’s text him, congratulating him on being ‘Mr. Stiles Hale’ at last.

Stiles blushes furiously when Derek reads that out.

**:::**

"What's wrong?" Derek asks as he toys idly with the handle of his bag, brought to help convince John that he's only just arrived back in California today. He can't help but think, that like a lot of Stiles' plans, this is going to go drastically wrong. Stiles has barely said two words to him since they got inside the airport and is currently slouched in the chair beside him, pecking away at his cell phone as though his life depends on it.

"Nothing."

"Oh," Derek replies, frowning down at his sneakers; he can hear the lie but isn't entirely sure what he's done to piss Stiles off. Given the conversation they had in the car earlier, he'd have expected Stiles to look a bit happier than he currently does. He pulls his own phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, purely for something to do, because the one person who texts him regularly is sitting right next to him and apparently, ignoring him.  
  
"You did ask - you know, what you asked because that's what you want, right?" Stiles says in an undertone, not looking away from his phone. "You're not just trying to impress my Dad by being all, I don't know, responsible or something?"  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow at that, because the definition of 'responsible' probably doesn’t include flying to the opposite side of the country to have sex with a seventeen year old and is pretty certain that John would agree with that sentiment. He's also a little confused because this conversation is giving him déjà vu; he's fairly certain they discussed all this at the rest stop already.

"That's what you're pissed about?" He asks with a humorless laugh, knocking his ankle against Stiles' own. "No, I didn't ask for your Dad's benefit. I asked because that's what I want. Thought you wanted that too?"

Stiles gives a little hum of agreement, and out of the comer of his eye, Derek can see his cheeks coloring blotchily as he smiles down at his phone.

He shoves his cell back into his jacket pocket, thinking that he should probably text Cora at some point to make sure she's OK before closing his eyes and sinking lower in his seat, letting the sound of the airport wash over him as he tries, and fails to get comfortable. He jumps slightly when, as he listens to another flight being called, Stiles moves his hand over and hooks his pinkie around Derek's.

"So," Stiles asks, continuing to tap away at his phone with one hand instead of two, "do I get to introduce you to people as 'my boyfriend, Derek Hale' now?"

"If you really have to," Derek replies, turning his head and leaning over just enough that he can nuzzle his forehead against Stiles' shoulder. He feels embarrassingly happy when Stiles makes a contented noise at the gesture and quickly turns his head to press kiss into his hair.

**:::**

Stiles throws himself at John the minute he appears in front of them, clinging a little too tight and for too long for someone he last saw a few days ago. Derek starts to grow distinctly uncomfortable after a few seconds, feeling as though he’s intruding on something private and not meant for him to see. Eventually, with a little gentle coaxing from John, Stiles lets go and grins sheepishly in Derek’s direction.

“Derek,” John nods, looking vaguely unimpressed. “How was your flight?”

“Fine. It was fine,” Derek replies hurriedly as he stands up. “Good, you know. Fine. And Good.”

“Except he totally sucks and didn’t bring me any peanuts off the plane,” Stiles grumbles dramatically as he elbows Derek in the ribs. Derek doesn’t miss the look John gives them when Stiles doesn’t move out of his personal space and wonders if John is suddenly regretting giving Stiles permission to invite him to visit.

“Here,” He mutters, pulling a small, shiny packet from his pocket and holding it out to Stiles, who whoops excitedly and tears into it.

“You realize you can buy those at the store for a dollar,” Derek asks as he grabs his bag and trails after Stiles and John.

“That’s what I tell him,” John says before Stiles can answer, giving Derek a faintly appraising look.

“Have regular store bought peanuts spent time at thirty thousand feet?” Stiles asks around a mouthful of nuts. “No, no they haven’t. I want peanuts that have experienced air travel. Cultured peanuts.”

Derek snorts at that, letting the sound of Stiles and John’s teasing rapport wash over him while watching with interest as, several times, John puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder to steer him out of the way of people, because he’s so lost in whatever the hell it is he’s talking about that he doesn’t notice he’s about to bump into other people.

**:::**

Derek jerks awake suddenly, fighting his way out from under the covers as he tries to focus on what's woken him up. As he kicks the quilt aside, he realizes it's the sound of Stiles' heart beat starting to race that's disturbed him from his sleep. He sits up, frowning when he checks his cell and sees the time; it's a little after three in the morning.

He leans forward, covering his ears with his hands as he hears Stiles starting to murmur in his sleep; he doesn't like being down the hall from Stiles, wants to be in bed with him so he stops making that noise. He's still trying to block out the sound of Stiles' distressed mumbling when he hears Stiles' heart beat start racing, hears him start to scream.

He's out of the guest room and down the hall without even thinking, slamming into Stiles room and grabbing for him as he thrashes around in bed. It's only as he's pulling Stiles' comforter away and hugging him tightly as he begins to quieten down that it occurs to him that John's bound to have heard Stiles as well and probably won't be very happy to find him in Stiles' bedroom at three in the morning.

"Stiles?"

And yep, there’s John standing in the open doorway, his deep frown just obvious in the low light.

"M'fine," Stiles murmurs, burying his face against Derek's chest and clutching at his t-shirt.

"You don't sound fine," John says gently as he flicks on the bedside light before sitting down in the end of the bed and watching Derek warily. "You sound like you were having another nightmare."

Derek fidgets uncomfortably, rubbing Stiles’ back gently through his shirt, all the while desperately avoiding eye contact with John.

"Dad," Stiles grumbles, pulling away from Derek’s chest slightly so he can see John, "I'm fine. I promise."

Derek can hear the lie and shifts uncomfortably, wanting to disentangle himself from Stiles without upsetting him further. John's still watching him, his gaze flicking to Stiles every so often as he snuggles closer to Derek.

"Maybe it's time for Derek to go back to the guest room if you're fine," John suggests. Stiles makes a feeble noise of protest, fisting his hands more tightly in Derek's shirt and shaking his head.

"Or he could stay here," Stiles replies, his voice slightly muffled. "So I don't have another nightmare."

"Nice try."

John looks up at Derek and nods towards the door before getting to his feet and folding his arms across his chest. Derek extricates himself with difficulty, flushing bright red when Stiles grabs hold of the front of his shirt, using his grip to pull Derek down into a kiss.

"Stiles," John admonishes, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by Stiles' display.

"Fine," Stiles huffs as he lets go of Derek's shirt. "Fine. But if I have another nightmare, you've only got yourself to blame."

"I'll bear that in mind," John says drily, holding Stiles' bedroom door open and gesturing for Derek to leave.

**:::**

A few hours later, Derek finds himself hovering outside Stiles' bedroom door again, wondering if he should knock on the door or not. Before he can make a decision, he hears someone say his name quietly.

"I know you're outside Stiles’ room right now."

Derek groans softly when he realizes it's John talking, taking full advantage of the fact that Derek can hear him and Stiles can't.

"If you really want to impress me, you'll get yourself downstairs right now. Without waking him."

Derek casts one last despondent look at Stiles' closed door before slowly making his way downstairs. He finds John sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him and an unamused expression on his face.

"Sit," he instructs, pushing the chair opposite him out with his foot. Derek does as he's told, dropping down into the chair and staring fixedly at the worn table top. "You can breathe," John adds. "We're just talking here."

"OK." Derek swallows nervously.

"I like you Derek," John continues. "You're a good kid, despite everything."

Derek wonders exactly what John's implying by 'everything'; his terrible choice in women? The fact he's been arrested for murder? That he's five and a half years older than Stiles?

"And I know Stiles is pretty crazy about you," John is saying, interrupting Derek's depressing train of thought, "and God knows I love my son, but he's - he's got a lot of issues. And I'm not sure I particularly want you to become another issue for him. Get me?"

"I think so?" Derek hazards miserably. This is it then, the other shoe dropping, what he's been waiting for the last few days, John telling him he doesn't want him and Stiles to be together. And as much as he hates it, he'll respect that, because there's no way he's going to come between Stiles and his father.

"He gets kind of obsessive, you know?" John sighs. "I think sometimes people don't know how to deal with that. With him. I guess what I'm getting at is that he's a lot younger than you and hasn't had half the life experience you have -"

"Wouldn't want him to,” Derek snaps, biting hard at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything else.

"No, nor would I,” John says, shooting Derek a kind smile. “What I'm saying is I'm worried he's falling for you and falling hard and that maybe you're not as invested in whatever this is between the two of you as he is. I think you could really hurt him, whether you mean to or not.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Derek replies quietly, frowning down at the table top. “At least I hope I’m not.”

“I really hope you’re not too, for both your sakes. How much has Stiles told you about the nightmares, about everything that’s been going on?”

“He tells me plenty.”

“Is that right? Look, maybe it’s not my place to be telling you this, but I’m not sure Stiles will have been entirely honest with you, because god forbid he worry anyone when he could just try to deal with things himself. The nightmares are just part of it. There’s other things too,” John pauses for a moment, tilting his coffee mug to examine the contents. “He barely sleeps, it’s been nearly six months, but he hardly ever sleeps through the night. He’s still having panic attacks too,” John adds, sighing deeply. “He thinks I don’t know, that he’s hiding them from me, but I know. Did he ever tell you that he used to be in therapy?”

Derek nods, getting a surprised look from John in response.

“That surprises me,” He tells Derek. “I’m not sure he even told Scott about it. He must really trust you.”

Derek has no idea how to reply to that, mostly because the way John says ‘trust’ is so loaded, like he’s hinting at something else as well.

“You know, before all this started, this supernatural stuff, he was doing well. And yes, he’s doing a bit better now, but for a while there, it was really bad.”

"I love him," Derek says quietly, cutting John off before he can say anything else. "I - none of that other stuff, none of that matters to me. I'm in love with him despite all that. Maybe because of all that, I don't know. I just know that I love him and I’m not going to hurt him."

"Pretty sure you're supposed to say to me before you say it to my Dad."

Derek spins round at the sound of Stiles' voice, surprised to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. He's been so focused on his conversation with John that he hadn't heard Stiles come downstairs. Stiles is smiling at him though, small and fond, so presumably he's not overly upset by what he's heard.

"I mean it," Derek mumbles as he looks back down at the table top, trying to avoid eye contact with John.

"Good." Stiles crosses the kitchen, squeezing Derek's shoulder before plopping down in the chair next to him and scooting close. "Getting the Spanish Inquisition, huh?" He brazenly reaches for Derek's hand, lacing their fingers together as he grins easily at John. Derek doesn't reply to that but does give Stiles' hand a gentle squeeze.

"Something like that," John replies. "Making sure he knows what he's getting himself into with you."

Stiles laughs and Derek settles back in his chair, letting the sounds of Stiles and John's gentle bickering wash over him. Stiles keeps rubbing the pad of his thumb over Derek's knuckles and it's the only thing he seems to be able to actually focus on.

"I do too, you know," Stiles says quietly, bumping his shoulder against Derek's as he watches John making coffee. "Love you."

It seems like something that should feel awkward, having Stiles tell him that out loud for the first time in front of John, but it feels anything but awkward. John shoots them both a look over his mug of coffee, a fond expression on his face as he shakes his head.

"Hey Dad," Stiles asks suddenly, sitting up a little further in his chair. "Now you've grilled Derek about his intentions towards your precious firstborn, how about letting him sleep in my room tonight? You know, so I don't get nightmares."

"And how do you know that'll stop the nightmares?" John asks, narrowing his eyes.

"It's a hypothesis I'm working on," Stiles grins. "Which needs testing. For science reasons."

"Nice try, firstborn," John replies with a laugh. "Do I need to remind you that you're still seventeen?"

"Nope, still painfully aware of that little fact," Stiles grumbles. "But you know, there's no legal age limit on sleeping in the same bed as someone else."

Derek kicks him under the table and frowns at him, shaking his head slightly. Stiles has got a slightly mutinous expression on his face like he's about to reveal all to John in a ploy to get his own way.

"Do me and you need to have a conversation about _your_ intentions towards Derek?" John asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope, no, I’m pretty sure we don't," Stiles replies hurriedly as he presses his thigh against Derek's own beneath the table. "In fact I'm fairly certain you never need to try and talk to either of us about intentions ever."

John shakes his head before finishing the last of his coffee and placing his empty mug in the sink. "Right, I'm off to work. You," he points at Stiles, "behave yourself."

"I always behave myself," Stiles replies in mock outrage. "What are you implying? That me and Derek are going to get up to -"

"Finish that sentence and maybe I'll bring you to work with me," John interrupts. Stiles scowls at him but goes quiet. Derek keeps his gaze fixed on the table as they listen to John head for the garage.

"So what was he asking you?" Stiles demands the minute they hear John's truck start up. "If you're planning on robbing me of my virtue? Did you tell him it's too late for that?"

"Yes," Derek sighs as he rolls his eyes. "I sat here and told your dad all about the sex we had. He's just worried, that's all."

"That you're going to sex me up?" Stiles grins. "Too late for that."

"Kind of, I guess. I think he's worried I'm going to end up hurting you."

"So. you're in love with me," Stiles says softly, turning towards Derek so their knees knock together.

"Yep."

"Awesome."

"You knew that already though. We talked about it the other day, remember?"

“I hoped," Stiles corrects him. "You just said you felt the same way I did and I didn't want to be all 'hey guess what, I'm all in love with you and shit' in case that wasn't the same feelings you were having and you freaked out. I definitely am, for the record. All in love with you."

Derek smiles at him before gently untangling their fingers and curling his hand around the back of Stiles neck. "Good."

He leans forward, brushing a light kiss against stiles' cheek. Stiles makes a quiet whimpering noise at that and moves his fingers to Derek's chin, forcing him to turn his head until he can kiss him properly, slow and painfully sweet.

“So what was he really saying to you?” Stiles asks when Derek pulls away.

“Nothing bad,” Derek replies as he rests his elbow on the back of Stiles’ chair and trails his fingers up Stiles’ back.

“That’s good,” Stiles says, shivering as Derek’s fingers reach the neck of his shirt. Derek smiles at his reaction, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric and tracing tiny circles on Stiles warm skin. “Thought he might have been telling you all the bad shit I get up to, you know, to scare you off or something.”

“Even if he had tried,” Derek says softly, watching Stiles as he leans into his touch. “It wouldn’t have worked.”

“You’re just _that_ into me?” Stiles asks, cocking an eyebrow in surprise, his smile going wide and excited when Derek nods, because yes, he is just that into Stiles.

**:::**

John's very adamant that they actually leave the house and go out some place, probably because he's on a late shift and hasn't missed the incredibly unsubtle looks Stiles has been shooting in Derek's direction all afternoon.

Which is how Derek comes to find himself hanging out at the bowling alley he hasn't been to since his fourteenth birthday with Stiles, Scott, Isaac and Allison and a new girl, Kira, who giggles far more than Derek feels is reasonable.

"I told Scott if he brought the twins, I'd walk out, or possibly punch him, maybe both," Stiles is muttering as he leans down to lace his bowling shoes. "So that's why they're not here. That's probably why Lydia's not here either. She still has this thing. With Aiden."

Derek tries not to preen at how unfazed Stiles seems to be by Lydia's absence, because for all Stiles insists he's just friends with her now, he can't help but feel a little jealous whenever Stiles mentions her.

"So you can stop pulling that face," Stiles adds as he straightens up, tugging playfully at the front of Derek's jacket.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Derek huffs, rubbing Stiles' upper arm with one hand.

"Mm hmm, sure you don't," Stiles laughs, stepping closer like he's about to kiss Derek before stopping suddenly and taking a small step back. "You're good at this, right?" He asks, inclining his head towards the lanes behind them.

"Not bad," Derek shrugs. He'd probably be better at bowling if it weren't for all the noise of the pins and balls, not the mention the people. And the smell. Whatever. He's not here to show off his bowling prowess, or lack thereof. He's here to spend time with Stiles.

"As long as you're better than Isaac. That's the main thing." Stiles reaches out and gives his hand a quick squeeze before turning on his heel and rushing off to where the others are waiting. Derek follows at a more leisurely pace, feeling somewhat out of place surrounded by various groups of teenagers.

**:::**

He's surprised that Stiles is a good bowler, which then makes him feel guilty because why wouldn't he be? Scott and Isaac are equally terrible, and as he sits down after tossing another gutter ball, Scott starts huffing about how it's not his fault and that he can't exactly use his old trick for concentrating. No one, besides Allison, seems to have any idea what he's talking about and she kicks him sharply in the leg before glancing at Isaac and shaking her head.

"Maybe it's a boy thing," Kira suggests as she gets up to take her turn. Derek narrows his eyes at her back; he knows exactly what she is, can see the aura she’s giving off, but none of the others seem to be acknowledging it so he keeps quiet. Aside from the giggling, she seems like a nice enough girl.

"Excuse me," Stiles pipes up, tearing his attention away from where he’s been stroking Derek's lower back in what he probably hopes is a discreet way, his fingers nudging up and under the bottom of Derek’s shirt and stopping him from focusing on anything else. "That's an incorrect and sweeping generalization. I'm actually good at this."

"Make you're not good at it," Allison remarks thoughtfully as Kira turns away. "Maybe you're just better than these three."

"Not hard," Stiles scoffs, nudging Derek in the ribs and grinning when he scowls at him. Derek returns the smile after a moment and stretches his arm along the back of the seat behind them. He surprised when Stiles stiffens at his touch and edges away slightly when he tries to actually put his arm around him, glancing around nervously before leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Derek frowns at that, because he feels like he's done something wrong and he has no idea what that might be.

**:::**

Stiles keeps up his sudden stand offish behavior for the rest of the evening; happy enough to sit beside Derek but pulling away when he goes to touch him or tries to put an arm around him. In the end, Derek gets fed up and stalks off to the other end of the diner area, away from Stiles and Scott and everyone else.

After a few minutes, Stiles skulks over and leans on the counter beside him, repeatedly pushing the napkins down in their spring loaded dispenser before letting them go again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Derek replies shortly, swirling the ice in his drink with his straw.

"So why are you sulking over here on your own?"

"I'm not."

"We can leave if you want?" Stiles suggests, moving his hand across the counter until it brushes against the back of Derek's own.

Before Derek can reply, they're interrupted by someone calling his name.

"Derek. Derek Hale, right?"

He looks up at the guy behind the counter, who's grinning widely at him; it takes a few minutes for it to dawn on him that he does in fact know the guy, that he used to go to school with him.

"Evan," the guy adds with a laugh, which is just as well, because Derek had been about to call him Steve. "How you been man? Haven't seen you in years!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Stiles slinking away, not even back towards where Scott and the others are sitting but towards the doors to the parking lot.

"Stiles!" He yells, turning away from Evan, who's still in mid flow about what he's done since high school, and rushing after Stiles. He catches him easily, grabbing hold of his arm and spinning him around right on the middle of the crowded foyer. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"Scott can give you a ride back to my place," Stiles mumbles, staring down at the floor.

"You didn't answer my question," Derek tells him, keeping a firm but gentle hold on his arm. "What's wrong? Why are you upset?"

"All these people in here," Stiles mutters as he gestures expansively with his free arm. "All these people, they're all looking at us thinking what the hell is someone like you doing with someone like me. Like you should be embarrassed to be seen with me."

"So? Let them think what they like. It's none of their business."

"And," Stiles continues, like Derek hasn't spoken. "I overheard these guys in the bathroom, guys I'm pretty sure are only sophomores, talking about how I must be paying you because why the hell else would you be seen with a loser like me. And I just - I don't want people saying that kind of stuff about you, OK?"

"What about what they were saying about you?" Derek asks softly, exerting a slight pressure on Stiles' hand and relaxing a little when he steps closer.

"I don't care what they say about me," Stiles huffs, his shoulders sagging as Derek moves from gripping his wrist to linking their fingers together instead. "I've had more than enough shit talked about me by assholes at that school. But they're talking shit about you and that's extremely not cool."

"I don't care what they think about me either," Derek replies as he steps closer to Stiles. "I care about you. That's it."

"Yeah, but you should -" Stiles begins, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. Derek makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and reaches up with his free hand to nudge at Stiles’ chin, smiling when his fingers brush against a hint of stubble.

"Stop it," he says, his tone firm but gentle as he applies just enough pressure to make Stiles lift his head. "Please? Just stop putting yourself down."

"But I'm -"

Derek growls quietly at that, lowering his head and kissing Stiles softly, cutting off whatever argument he's about to launch into. He's not particularly proud of himself for silencing Stiles like this, but he can hear someone over in the arcade making a snide remark about the two of them and wants to prove to Stiles that he's not embarrassed to be seen with him. Plus he really, really wants to kiss Stiles right now.

It's not some dramatic kissing in the rain in a Nicholas Sparks novel kiss. It's small and sweet, Stiles' bottom lip slipping between Derek's slightly parted ones. He's vaguely aware that people are talking about them but doesn't care, just wraps his arms around Stiles and hugs him tightly.

"You do realize you're blocking the entrance, right?"

Derek very reluctantly pulls away to see Isaac smirking at them, with Allison hovering just behind him, an approving smile on her face.

"Shut up," Derek huffs, painfully aware that it's a weak comeback. Isaac snorts derisively as he passes them, muttering something about public decency and how they’re making him want to throw up his nachos.

"That's your fault you know," Stiles murmurs, turning his head so his hot breath ghosts across Derek's collarbone. "You made him."

"Shut up."

"You shut up," Stiles laughs softly, sliding his hands down Derek's back and wedging them into the back pockets of his jeans. "Hey, you feel like driving out to the preserve and making out before we go back?"

Derek nods eagerly.

**:::**

The pillow on the guest bed crackles when Derek lies down that night. He sits up and flicks the bedside light back on, frowning when he finds a folded up sheet of paper inside the pillow case. Unfolding it, he smiles when he realizes that it's a note from Stiles.

Derek slips out of bed and digs in the pocket of his jeans for his cell.

To Stiles - 23:11  
Still awake?  
  
From Stiles - 23:12  
 _Yep. Reading about how to make candy on my phone cos I can't sleep (again)_  
  
To Stiles - 23:14  
I was trying to work out why this bed smells of you all of a sudden. Did you roll around in it when you were hiding letters in my pillow?  
  
From Stiles - 23:15  
 _Depends - is the bed smelling like me a good thing or a bad thing?_  
  
To Stiles - 23:15  
Good thing x  
  
From Stiles - 23:16  
 _Thank fuck! I may have stashed a t-shirt under the other pillow. Don't think I haven't noticed that sniffing me thing you do ;)) x_  
  
Derek flips the other pillow over, ignoring it as it falls to the floor. The shirt Stiles was wearing the day before is there, just like he said. Derek wastes no time in shaking it out of the crumpled ball it's currently in before smoothing it out on his pillow so he can breathe in the scent.  
  
To Stiles - 23:18  
Maybe now I'll actually sleep tonight  
  
From Stiles - 23:19  
 _One of us should I guess._  
  
To Stiles - 23:20  
What's wrong? x  
  
From Stiles - 23:20  
 _Dunno, just can't sleep. Par for the course these days :( can't you sneak down the hall and come get in bed with me? Need hugs :(_  
  
To Stiles - 23:22  
I wish I could. Really, really wish I could. Don't want to make your dad mad  
  
From Stiles 23:23  
 _He doesn't have to know. Use your sneaky werewolf sneaking skills to sneak past his door! Pleeeeease?  
_  
To Stiles - 23:25  
Sorry :(  
  
From Stiles - 23:27  
 _You suck :(_  
  
To Stiles - 23:30  
I don't like it either.  
  
To Stiles - 23:35  
Are you ignoring me now?  
  
From Stiles - 23:36  
 _No, sorry, was reading about how they make taffy  
_  
From Stiles - 23:37  
 _Hey, quick question - when you were a kid and you lost your baby teeth, were they regular teeth or teeny tiny fangs?_  
  
To Stiles - 23:39  
I can't remember. Regular teeth I think. Why?  
  
From Stiles - 23:40  
 _I was just wondering cos I was thinking about the time I pulled a tooth out chewing on taffy. Do werewolves have a fang fairy instead of a tooth fairy?_  
  
To Stiles - 23:41  
How does your brain even come up with these things?  
  
From Stiles - 23:43  
 _Wish I knew! I'll stop texting if you want to go to sleep?_  
  
To Stiles - 23:44  
Don't want you to stop.  
  
From Stiles - 23:45  
 _:)  
_  
From Stiles - 23:45  
 _My dad has an early shift tomorrow...._  
  
To Stiles - 23:46  
I know, I was there at dinner when he told us  
  
From Stiles - 23:48  
 _So he'll be gone by 8am  
_  
From Stiles - 23:48  
 _I'm thinking I might need to come get in bed with you at say, 08:03._  
  
To Stiles - 23:49  
I like the sound of that x  
  
From Stiles - 23:51  
 _Will you be sad if there's a terrible accident involving all my clothes and I'm forced to turn up in the guest room all naked?_  
  
To Stiles - 23:52  
Yeah, I'll be real distraught  
  
From Stiles - 23:53  
 _See now I'm sad we're in separate rooms for very different reasons._  
  
From Stiles - 23:53  
 _Penis reasons._  
  
From Stiles - 23:54  
 _How much can you hear from there? x_  
  
To Stiles - 23:55  
:)  
  
To Stiles - 23:56  
You're messing around with your phone and fidgeting. Don't pretend you're doing anything else, because I know you're not.  
  
From Stiles - 23:57  
 _How about now?_  
  
To Stiles - 23:59  
You're mean :(  
  
From Stiles - 00:00  
 _> :]_  
  
From Stiles - 00:02  
 _Fine, I'm stopping now. Saving myself for tomorrow :) x_  
  
To Stiles - 00:03  
Good.  
  
From Stiles - 00:04  
 _You're going to make it worth my while, right?_  
  
To Stiles - 00:04  
Hope so  
  
From Stiles - 00:06  
 _You realize there's only 40 something hours left until you go away again? :'(_  
  
To Stiles - 00:06  
Now I do :(  
  
From Stiles - 00:07  
 _God, I'm so stupidly awake right now._  
  
From Stiles - 00:07  
 _Plus I keep thinking bout what I might do to you tomorrow morning and now I'm stupid horny as well as wide awake_  
  
From Stiles - 00:08  
 _Life ruiner x  
_  
To Stiles - 00:10  
Maybe you'd actually feel tired if you put your phone down  
  
From Stiles - 00:11  
 _If you want to go to sleep, you can. I won't be mad._  
  
To Stiles - 00:12  
Somehow I'm not sure I believe that...  
  
From Stiles - 00:13  
 _Mean. I won't be._  
  
To Stiles - 00:15  
Ok. I'm pretty tired though  
  
From Stiles - 00:16  
 _Go to sleep then loser :) x_  
  
To Stiles - 00:17  
Night xx  
  
From Stiles - 00:18  
 _nn xx  
_  
Derek stifles a yawn and wedges his phone under the pillow before rolling onto his front. It's just entirely coincidental that that means his face is pressed into the shirt Stiles had left on the bed. Or at least that's what he'll argue if anyone suggests otherwise. It's not the same as having Stiles in bed with him but it goes a long way towards making him feel comforted and safe and it takes hardly any time at all for his eyelids to start drooping as a wave of tiredness washes over him. As he moves into a more comfortable position, he hears Stiles utter his name and focuses his hearing.

"Don't know if you're asleep already," Stiles is saying, "but if you're not, I love you."

Derek smiles into his pillow, and Stiles shirt. "Love you too," he hears himself whispering into the quiet darkness, even though he knows there's no chance Stiles will hear him.

**:::**

John ends up working late into the evening, and they retreat to Stiles' bedroom the minute he leaves the house.

Derek watches Stiles through half closed eyes as he lazily waves his hand around above his head, disturbing the dust motes floating in a stream of late afternoon sunshine. There's a vague promise of sex at some point, but for now, Derek is more than content to use the time to stare unashamedly at Stiles. He’s only half listening to what Stiles is saying to him and is more interested in the way Stiles’ heart beat skips slightly every time he presses a kiss against his bare shoulder.

Stiles soon realizes that Derek’s not really paying attention, because he’s suddenly turning onto his side, making frustrated little huffing noises as he glares at Derek before reaching up to cup his cheek and kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want to go back,” Derek murmurs suddenly when Stiles pulls away, closing his eyes to better focus on the sensation of Stiles’ thumb sweeping across his cheekbone. Evidently, it’s the wrong thing to say because he feels Stiles stiffen, feels his thumb still against his cheek.

“You kind of have to,” Stiles replies in a small voice. “Cora? Remember? Your demented little sister?”

“She doesn’t need me anymore,” Derek admits, realizing as he says it just how true that is. Cora hasn’t needed him for a while now; she’s got her friends and school and spends more time out of the apartment than she does in it. He’s fairly certain that if she hadn’t been coming in the morning he left that she’d have had no idea he was flying back to California for a week. As reasons to go back to New York go, Cora isn’t the greatest.

“Well OK, what about your friends?”

“What about them?”

“You’re just going to ditch them again?”

“You know,” Derek huffs as he reaches up for Stiles hand and pulls it away from his cheek, “I’d’ve thought you, out of everyone, would be kind of happy about me wanting to come home.”

“Just trying not to get my hopes up,” Stiles breathes, reaching for Derek’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “If I do, something’ll go wrong and I’ll be here. On my own again. Not with you.”

Derek gives his hand a gentle squeeze, leans forward to close the gap between them. Stiles kisses him again softly as he does, his lips just barely brushing Derek’s own.

“You should talk to Cora,” he tells Derek when they break apart. “I bet she’d miss you more than you think.”

“You not going to miss me?” Derek asks, going for playful and missing the mark by a long shot.

“Miss you already,” Stiles sighs.

“Haven’t left yet.”

“No but you’re going to and it’s gonna suck even more than last time.”

“Sorry.”

Stiles shrugs before shuffling closer and wedging his foot between Derek’s ankles. “Can we just not talk about sad things like you leaving anymore? I don’t want to think sad things until you’re on your plane and I’m sat in my Jeep crying like the giant loser I am.”

Derek nods, tangling his fingers into Stiles hair and kissing his lightly. “You’re going to cry?”

“Probably,” Stiles admits before lunging forward for another kiss, parting his lips and forcing Derek to do the same so he can lick into his mouth. It goes on for a long time, until Stiles loses interest and wriggles down the bed, pushing Derek’s shirt up and pressing hot, dragging kisses across his stomach. That makes Derek squirm, arching his hips off the bed at the sensation, although not as much as he squirms when Stiles hurriedly drags his boxers halfway down his thighs and looks up at him.

“Can I?” Stiles asks in an almost whisper, licking his lips and flicking his gaze from Derek’s eyes to his hardening cock. Derek nods, flopping his head back against the pillow and moaning softly as Stiles slowly drags the tip of his tongue up the underside of his cock.

It’s not long before he’s gasping out Stiles’ name, clutching at his hair as he comes. Stiles sits back on his heels, looking immensely pleased with himself and resisting Derek’s feeble attempts to pull him down into a hug. Stiles’ slightly mesmerized stare is starting to make him feel uncomfortable, and he hauls his boxers back up, scowling at Stiles as he continues to stare.

“What?”

“Love you,” Stiles says with a shrug and a fond smile, finally giving in to Derek grabbing at him and flopping down onto his chest, rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton of Derek’s shirt. Derek wraps his arms around him and smiles into his hair as it occurs to him that for the first time since he was younger than Stiles is now, he’s in love with someone who actually loves him back and isn’t trying to further their own agenda.

It’s a nice feeling.

**:::**

"Pull over," Derek murmurs, pointing to the sign for the rest stop they'd stopped at a few days earlier. Stiles shoots a quizzical look in his direction but does as he's asked, bringing the Jeep to a stop and gripping the steering wheel tightly as he stares out of the windscreen.

"You're not making me stop here again so you can break up with me, are you?"

Derek frowns at that, because Stiles sounds so serious and so worried, like he genuinely thinks Derek's about to call this whole thing off.

"No," he replies as he reaches for Stiles' hand and laces their fingers together. "I don't want to go to the airport just yet."

Stiles brightens at that and twists around in his seat until he's facing Derek, a fond smile on his face. "I can deal with that. How long until your flight?"

Derek uses his grip on Stiles' hand to turn his arm slightly so he can look at his watch. "Two hours, give or take," he replies with a grin.

"What? You said it was at five. It's," he does his best to check the time without letting go of Derek's hand, "nearly twenty after four."

"I lied," Derek shrugs.

"Why?"

He raises an eyebrow, only to get a bemused look from Stiles in return. "Wanted to spend some time alone with you before I go. No offence to your Dad," he adds, because they'd had to cut short sitting around the house with John.

"Fine by me," Stiles grins, leaning across the cramped space and kissing Derek. "This is what you had in mind, right?" He asks when he pulls away a fraction of an inch. Derek nods, letting go of Stiles' hand and grabbing for the front of his shirt, twisting the soft fabric in his fist and pulling Stiles close again.

"I love my car," Stiles murmurs when they next separate, "but Jesus fucking Christ, it's cramped in here."

Derek hums in agreement, shifting awkwardly in his seat; his tight jeans are distinctly tighter and more uncomfortable than they were before he spent fifteen minutes making out with Stiles. "We could go for a walk," he suggests, gesturing towards the scrubby patch of woodland beyond the rest stop parking lot.

Stiles shoots a disdainful look at the trees; "well aren't you just the last of the true romantics."

"Would you rather just go straight to the airport?"

"Shit no! I want you to feel me up in the woods!" He's scrambling out of the car before Derek can respond to that, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for Derek to follow.

"Why do I get the feeling you've been waiting for a while to say that?" Derek asks as he joins Stiles and grabs for his hand again.

"You know me so well."

Derek gives his hand a little squeeze in response, because if there's one person he does truly know well, one person he wants to know well, it's Stiles.

“I can't believe you lied about your flight just so we could fool around," Stiles says as they climb over the low fence at the edge of the parking lot.

"Are you really?" Derek asks, "Or are you just annoyed that you didn't think of it first?"

"Little from column A, little from column B," Stiles laughs. "What would you have done if I'd suggested leaving earlier than we did so we could make out in some random ass woods?"

"Guess I'd just have to have spent more time making out with you," Derek replies with a shrug.

"You know what I'm noticing?” Stiles asks as he slows to a halt and leans back against a buckeye tree, his arms folded loosely across his chest, "We're doing a fuck of a lot of talking about making out instead of actually making out."

"Yep."

"C'mere," he murmurs, deftly hooking his fingers through one of Derek's belt loops and pulling him close. Derek goes willingly, because he'll probably always go willingly where Stiles is involved, pushing him back against the tree before lowering his head and pressing fleeting kisses down the side of his throat. "God I wish you didn't have to go," Stiles sighs as he twists his fingers into Derek's hair.

"Me too," Derek whispers between teasing bites, enjoying the way Stiles rolls his hip every time his teeth graze over sensitive skin. He means it too, would quite happily stay here in the woods with Stiles forever instead of getting on a plane back to New York.

They don't talk after that, after Derek presses a soft kiss against Stiles' lips and finds himself being pulled in for something much more passionate. It’s nice; he half expects Stiles to start trying to work his hand down the front of his pants or start grabbing at his ass, and is pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t. He likes this, just pressing Stiles up against a tree and kissing him and there being no expectations of it going any further. It makes him feel young again, like this was something he should have been doing when he was Stiles’ age, instead of being tricked into painfully awkward sex with Kate in the back of her car.

“I love you,” He breathes when Stiles shifts, trying to make himself more comfortable against the tree, dropping his head onto Stiles’ shoulder and inhaling deeply.

“You know what I’ve liked most about you being here?” Stiles asks quietly, sliding his hand up into Derek’s hair and dragging his fingernails lightly over his scalp. “You’re literally the cheesiest, soppiest person in the world. It’s kind of jarring and endearing all at the same time.”

“Sorry.”

“God, don’t be. It’s awesome,” Stiles sighs, pressing kisses into his hair. “I love you too, by the way.”

“Good.”

“Kiss me again?”

Derek lifts his head and happily obliges.

**:::**

Stiles has gone quiet and sullen by the time they get into the airport; he walks off the minute they get to the departures lounge, throwing himself down on a bench and scowling at the people passing by.

“I don’t want you to go,” He snaps when Derek sits down beside him and gingerly rests his hand on his knee. “And I know that’s really selfish, and I’m not actually asking you to stay, I’m just saying, OK? I don’t want you to go again. You leaving fucking sucks, OK?”

“Sorry,” Derek mumbles as he reaches for Stiles’ hand, only to be left holding his hand out stupidly in mid air when Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets. Derek’s kind of embarrassed by the involuntary noise of disappointment that escapes his mouth at that, and glares down at the floor until his cheeks stop burning. “I don’t want to go either, you know,” He huffs, kicking at Stiles’ foot. “This isn’t any easier for me than it is for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighs at last, dropping his head onto Derek’s shoulder and taking a shaky breath. “I thought this would be easier. Actually getting to say goodbye to you instead of you disappearing on me again. But it’s not. This is way worse.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Derek replies. “If you – you can go now if you want. I get it.”

Stiles shakes his head, sliding one hand across Derek’s thigh. “I’m not going anywhere until your dumbass plane has gone. Sorry. You’re stuck with me now.”

Derek laughs softly, pressing a kiss into Stiles’ hair and, after a moment’s hesitation, covering Stiles’ hand with his own.

**:::**

Derek’s flight is delayed, which just makes things worse, because Stiles has apparently prepared himself for Derek leaving at six thirty, and for every minute past that, he grows more and more twitchy, repeatedly checking his watch and glaring up at the departures board.

Derek sneaks a sidelong look at him, where he’s practically vibrating in his seat, presumably from the effort of not asking, for the sixth time in twenty minutes, when Derek thinks they’ll actually start letting people on the plane. Deep down, he knows Stiles isn’t asking because he’s desperate to get rid of him and that he’s just thrown by things not happening the way he expected them to, but it doesn’t stop it hurting every time he mutters about how late the plane is.

It’s almost a relief when they finally start calling out rows for boarding and he can’t seem to stop himself from jumping to his feet when they call his row, if only to get away from how on edge the situation is making him feel.

“Bye then,” Stiles mumbles as he stands up behind Derek; when he turns to look at him, there’s a hurt expression on his face. Derek shoves his bag back down onto the seat, grabbing desperately at Stiles and pulling him into a crushing hug. After a few minutes of fisting at the back of his shirt, Stiles seems to calm down a bit and mutters something about werewolf strength and needing to breathe.

“I’m going to come back,” Derek tells him as they break apart. “I – I’ll come back. Soon. I promise.”

Stiles just nods in reply, biting down hard at his bottom lip. It’s only then that Derek realizes there are tears in his eyes. It’s more than he can deal with right now, and he gives Stiles one last cursory hug, whispering in his ear that he loves him before turning away and heading for his gate. Out of the corner of his eye, as he steps through the door to the jetway, he spots Stiles crumple back into his seat, his head buried in his hands as he starts to cry in earnest.

He gets stuck behind two elderly ladies as he walks down the jetway, and doesn’t have the heart to push past the two of them, because he’s already feeling like someone’s just ripped his heart out, and upsetting the elderly is probably not going to make him feel any better. All he can hear for that painfully long walk to the plane is the sound of Stiles crying back in the airport building; it’s only when he drops into his seat and stares fixedly out of the plane window that he lets himself breathe and isn’t even halfway surprised when he feels tears starting to prick at his eyes too.

**:::**

Cora isn't home when he gets back to the apartment, which despite the mess she's left all over the coffee table and the kitchen, he's thankful for, because he just wants to collapse into bed and not have to answer a million and one questions about how his trip was.

He misses Stiles. He can feel it in his chest, like a deep ache that's never going to go away. It's made worse because all his things still have Stiles' scent clinging to them, reminding him that Stiles is over 3000 miles away again. He drops his bag down onto his bed, digging around in it and pulling out the shirt Stiles had hidden in his bed the night before he left.

As he flops down on his bed, kicking his bag to the floor in the process, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts Stiles.

To Stiles - 04:02  
How mad would you be if I told you I stole your shirt?

From Stiles - 04:10  
 _Not as mad as I am about gettin woken up at 1am._

From Stiles - 04:11  
 _Which shirt? xx_

To Stiles - 04:13  
Sorry :( I can't sleep

From Stiles - 04:14  
 _And you decided if you can't sleep no one else should either? x_

From Stiles - 04:15  
 _Srsly - which shirt?_

To Stiles - 04:16  
The one you hid in my bed....

From Stiles - 04:18  
 _Aww man, I like that shirt! Don't lose it or stretch out with your stupid Derek body, k?_

To Stiles - 04:19  
Duly noted

From Stiles - 04:21  
 _So you stealing my clothes, that's a thing now?_

From Stiles - 04:22  
 _Or would it be if we were in the same place? x_

To Stiles - 04:23  
I don't know. It smells like you.

To Stiles - 04:24  
I miss you

To Stiles - 04:30  
Still there?

From Stiles - 04:31  
 _Yeah, pulling sad faces at my phone and looking for something._

From Stiles - 04:33  
 _You're not the only one who steals clothes ;)_

From Stiles - 04:33  
 _Check your bag_

To Stiles - 04:37  
You took my hoodie?

From Stiles - 04:38  
 _Yup_

From Stiles - 04:38  
 _Wearing it now :)_

To Stiles - 04:39  
:(

From Stiles - 04:40  
 _Would you be less :( if I said I'm wearing your hoodie, my underwear and nothing else? x_

To Stiles - 04:42  
That makes me miss you more :(

From Stiles - 04:44  
 _It shouldn't, I'm wildly undesirable_

To Stiles - 04:45  
No

From Stiles - 04:46  
 _I love you xx <3_

To Stiles - 04:47  
I love you too

From Stiles - 04:49  
 _:)_

From Stiles - 04:50  
 _Even now you're back in New York with infinitely cooler people than me?_

To Stiles - 04:51  
Yes

To Stiles - 04:53  
And they're really not that cool. Don't let Cora tell you they are

From Stiles - 04:56  
 _You're going to come back and see me again right?_

To Stiles - 04:57  
Yes, course I am. Why wouldn't i?

From Stiles - 05:02  
 _Dunno. Because you got some?_

To Stiles - 05:03  
You really think that's what I'm like?

From Stiles - 05:05  
 _You used to be. You told me._

To Stiles – 05:06  
Used to being the operative word.

From Stiles – 05:09  
 _Sorry. Feeling kind of wobbly without you around :(_

To Stiles – 05:10  
I'm sorry

From Stiles – 05:12  
 _Not your fault. Man, I could sure go for one of your amazing hugs right now :(_

From Stiles – 05:12  
 _It's lame that I'm maybe tearing up here, isn't it?_

To Stiles – 05:13  
No.

From Stiles – 05:15  
 _if I say I need to go to sleep because I can’t keep my dumb eyes open are you going to hate me?_

To Stiles – 05:15  
No

From Stiles – 05:16  
 _just for the record tho, I don’t want to go to sleep, I want to keep talking to you all night x_

To Stiles – 05:17  
Sleep. We can talk tomorrow x

From Stiles – 05:18  
 _I miss your ridiculously hairy legs :(_

From Stiles – 05:18  
 _thought you might need to know that_  
  
To Stiles – 05:20  
I miss your chest hair ;)

From Stiles – 05:21  
 _weirdo_

From Stiles – 05:22  
 _Thank you. for visiting. <3_

To Stiles – 05:23  
Go to sleep xxx

His phone goes silent after that and he sighs deeply, glancing down at the t-shirt in his hand before shrugging. Standing up, he quickly strips off his jeans and henley before pulling on Stiles’ shirt. He feels a little guilty as he tugs on the hem, because he’s doing exactly what Stiles asked him not to do, but figures it makes them even, given that Stiles is allegedly wearing his hoodie right now. And anyway, since he stopped working out as obsessively as he used to, he and Stiles are nearly the same size.

His phone beeps again as he slips under the blankets and he snatches it up, shaking his head and smiling when he opens the message to find a picture and no text. A picture of Stiles’ chest, to be precise, with the zipper of Derek’s hoodie pulled down to expose the small patch of hair of which Derek is so unreasonably fond.

He impulsively sets the picture as his home screen before shoving his phone under his pillow and settling down to sleep.

**:::**

He’s sitting on the fire escape late one afternoon, idly sketching the building opposite theirs when it hits him that he wants to be back in Beacon Hills, and not just because that’s where Stiles is. He misses the quietness and familiarity of the preserve, misses being able to go to look at his old house if he needs to. The short amount of time he spent with Scott and Isaac when he last went back made him realize he misses them too, and much as he might hate to admit it, being around Scott, around an alpha, had felt right.

The feeling comes like a bolt out of the blue, and he glares down at his sketchbook as he tries to stamp it back down, telling himself that he’s only thinking these things because he’s missing Stiles.

Deep down though, he knows that’s not true, but the thought of actually voicing aloud the thoughts that New York has never felt like home in the same way Beacon Hills always will scares the hell out of him.

**:::**

“I think we need to talk,” Cora announces one evening, pulling Derek’s book out of his hands before snapping it shut and wedging it under her thigh so he can’t get it back.

“And you couldn’t have just talk to me? You had to take my book?”

“You wouldn’t have listened if I’d let you keep it,” Cora replies blithely.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You’re not happy.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine isn’t the same as happy. Know who else isn’t happy? Your boyfriend.”

“I know. He tells me as much at least once a day,” Derek sighs. It hurts every single time he gets a message from Stiles telling him how he misses him, that he loves him, that he wishes he was back in Beacon Hills, because there’s only one thing he knows that will solve that problem and doesn’t feel like he can do that.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Cora demands. “Because you can’t keep doing this. You can’t both keep being this sad all the time. It’s not fair on either of you.”

“I’ll fly out to see him soon,” Derek replies. Because what else can he do? It’s not like he can up sticks and move back home.

“And then what? You’ll come back home again sadder than when you went? He’ll call me up crying every day instead of every other day?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Go home. Properly,” Cora says slowly, like she’s talking to a very stupid person. “What’s the point of staying here if you’re not happy?”

“You’re here,” Derek tries, hearing even to his own ears how feeble and vaguely insincere that sounds. “I didn’t find you again just to abandon you six months down the line.”

“You’re not _abandoning_ me,” Cora huffs. “You know where I am now. I’m not going anywhere; I actually like it here.”

“But –”

“Be honest,” Cora interrupts, pulling the book from under her leg and throwing it to the floor so she can get more comfortable in her chair. “Did it feel right to you? Being around an alpha again? Even if it was just Scott?”

“I guess.” He frowns at her, wondering when exactly it was that she got so smart and insightful. “But what about you? Don’t you miss it? Being around other wolves? Having a pack?”

“Sure I miss it, and I’ll miss you when you go,” Cora starts as she examines the chipping nail polish on fingernails. _When_ , Derek notices, _when you go_. “But I spent six and a half years not being part of a pack, not having anyone. I kind of got used to it. And now, I dunno, I kind of feel like, my friends here? I’ve found my own pack.” She shrugs and ducks her head, like that’s going to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Laura used to say the same thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Said it was easier having a human pack than a pack of wolves.”

“You miss it though,” Cora replies after a beat, a statement rather than a question. Derek nods, because it’s true, he does miss it, having a pack and being with other werewolves. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, Cora staring out of the darkened window, Derek gazing into the middle distance.

“You ever worry you’ll lose control? Give yourself away?” He asks after a long moment.

“Yeah right,” Cora laughs, fidgeting around in her chair until she can drape her legs over one arm. “Out of the two of us, who went to kindergarten and who got homeschooled until they were in second grade because they couldn’t control their shift?”

Derek huffs, pulling the cushion out from under his head and hurling it at her; she catches it out of the air before it hits her and shoves it behind her back, smirking at him.

“Will you stay here?” Derek asks. “If I go?”

“When,” Cora replies with certainty. “Yeah, I think I will. I like this place.”

“You won’t get lonely?”

“Robin’s kind of desperate to get out of her Mom’s place,” She tells him. “She’d jump at the chance to move in here if I asked.”

He turns his head to look over at her, smiling when he sees the excited look on her face, like she’s already planning out having her best friend move in.

“When do you think you’ll go?”

“I don’t know,” Derek replies slowly. “I should probably talk to Scott first. He’s the alpha.”

“What are you going to tell Stiles?” Cora asks. “More importantly, when are you going to tell him?” She pulls her cell out of her pocket and holds it out to him. “Call him now, tell him. It’ll cheer him up.”

Derek shakes his head and waves her hand away. “I’m not telling him anything yet. I don’t want to get his hopes up until it’s definitely happening.”

“You’re so weird,” Cora sighs, getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. She ruffles his hair playfully as she passes, dancing out of his reach when he goes to push her away. “If you tell him, he’ll have something to look forward to and then he’ll stop being sad all the time.”

“Maybe,” Derek replies thoughtfully. He sits up suddenly and glares at her back as she pokes around in the refrigerator. “Don’t tell him. I need to be the one who tells him.”

“Yeah, like I’d ruin _that_ for you.”

He lies back down on the couch, resting one hand on his stomach and staring up at the lightshade. “I’m going home.”

“Yep,” Cora replies as she heads back towards the armchair, picking up his book and dropping it down onto his legs. “You going to go back to the loft?”

Derek shakes his head; there’s nothing in the world that could make him step foot in the loft right now, because that would mean confronting what he did to Boyd, what he was forced to do to Boyd. It’s one of the only things he’s not been able to talk about with Jeph. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to talk about.

“You going to fly back to look for an apartment?”

“Maybe.”

“You should look online, it’ll be cheaper than flying all the way back to California just to look,” Cora continues happily. “Can I tell Robin?”

“If you want,” Derek replies, lifting his head and watching her as she gets out of the chair again. “Just don’t tell Stiles.”

“I already told you I wouldn’t. Want to come watch Fallon with me?”

Derek scoffs at the suggestion and rolls off the couch, heading for his own, thankfully TV free room. He knows it would be a good idea of speak to Scott before making any concrete plans about going home but it doesn’t stop him from grabbing his laptop from where it’s charging under the bed and looking up rentals in Beacon Hills and the surrounding areas.

**:::**

Not telling Stiles that he’s moving back is becoming increasingly difficult; he hates keeping secrets from Stiles now and every phone call, text message and Skype call they have, Stiles asks when he’s going to visit next. In the end, because he knows Stiles will get suspicious if he keeps refusing to give a date, he makes a vague promise about coming back at the start of June when Stiles has finished up with school for summer.

That seems to mollify stiles and he goes quiet, letting Derek start telling him about what Cora's been up to; it quickly segues into him talking about Laura, which he seems to be doing more and more of late.

"Huh." Stiles' confused little hum is loud down the phone.

"What?"

"You talk a lot more about your family these days," Stiles comments, sounding almost proud.

"Guess I do," Derek replies, rolling onto his back and scratching at his stomach. "This guy I've been seeing has really helped me with that."

Stiles goes quiet for a moment, his sharp inhalation loud in Derek's ear. "Say again."

"Say what again?"

"What you just said."

"I said this guy I've been seeing has really helped me out," Derek repeats, frowning. He doesn't get to say anything else because there's a click and then silence. He pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it for a moment before quickly calling stiles back. The call gets declined mid-ring, and then when he tries again, goes straight to voicemail. He shoots off a quick text to stiles, asking him what the matter is and telling him that he loves him before texting Cora and asking her to try calling stiles for him.

He doesn’t get any sleep that night.

**:::**

"You're cheating on him?" Cora asks disgustedly when she comes slamming through the front door the following morning. "How could you do that to him?"

Derek wrenches open his bedroom door and growls at her. He’s spent the entire night and morning sat on his bed thinking the worst and isn’t in the mood for Cora yelling at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Why are you cheating on him?” She repeats, throwing her bag down onto the couch.

“Why the hell would I cheat on him?” Derek asks in exasperation. “Why does he think I am?”

“He said you told him you were seeing ‘this guy’, when you were talking to him last night.”

“I – what? Then he’s an idiot,” Derek snaps, moving away from his bedroom door and flopping down in the armchair. “I was talking about Jeph. About therapy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Derek scowls at her for a moment before digging his cell out of his pocket and sending Stiles a text.

To Stiles – 10:54  
You think I’m cheating on you? The guy I was talking about is my therapist. I’ve been going to therapy for months. Since before Christmas. That’s it, I promise.

He gives it ten minutes before trying to call Stiles, throwing his phone down in frustration when the call gets declined.

“Why won’t he pick up?”

“You’re asking me to explain the inner workings of _Stiles’_ mind?” Cora scoffs as she leans over the back of the couch and fishing her own phone from her bag. “Yeah, right. I don’t think there’s anyone on earth that could do that. Go wait your room,” She adds, pointing towards the open door as she slides open the window to the fire escape. “And don’t listen.”

Derek does as he’s told, because it’s easier than trying to argue with her, or having to hear what Stiles might say to her. After a few painfully long minutes, Cora sticks her head around his bedroom door, her cell phone pressed against her shoulder while she holds his phone out to him.

“Text him the address for Jeph’s office,” She tells him as she tosses his phone onto the bed before disappearing again. Once again, Derek finds himself doing as he’s told, hurriedly sending the address to Stiles before sitting back against his pillows, chewing at his thumbnail as he waits for some kind of response.

It takes two and a half hours. Two and a half long painful hours which leave Derek pacing around the apartment, trying to fight down the urge to put his fist through a door or a wall. He doesn’t, in the end, but it’s a close thing. Thankfully his phone rings before he gets the chance.

“ _So I looked your supposed therapist up online_ ,” Is the first thing Stiles says to him, not bothering with a hello. “ _Seems like he’s legit._ ”

“Because he is,” Derek says with a relieved sigh.

“ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ” Stiles demands, still sounding angry. “ _I thought you could tell me stuff like this._ ”

“I just – I don’t know why I didn’t. It just didn’t seem important.”

“ _You told me everything else,_ ” Stiles complains. “ _How do I know this isn’t just some convoluted way for you to get out of all this?_ ”

“All what?” Derek asks in exasperation. “Do you really think I’m cheating on you?”

“ _I – um, no,_ ” Stiles admits to the sound of his bed creaking like he’s just thrown himself down on it. “ _I’ve just had the shittest week ever and then you said you were seeing someone and I guess I just got the wrong end of the stick. I hate that I’m not going to get to see you for another two months. I really fucking miss you right now._ ”

“I miss you too,” Derek replies softly, wondering if he should just come clean and admit that he’s moving back to Beacon Hills, that he’s found an apartment and will be back in just a few weeks time. It’d definitely make Stiles happier, but he’s got this feeling, this horrible nagging doubt of a feeling, where if he actually tells Stiles, something will go wrong and they’ll both end up disappointed.

“ _Sorry for being a dick_ ,” Stiles tells him sheepishly.

“Sorry for not telling you.”

“ _You shouldn’t be,_ ” Stiles says through a yawn. “ _You don’t have to tell me things if you don’t want to. I’m just, I dunno, being a dick._ ”

“You’re not.”

“ _Does it help? Therapy?_ ”

“Yeah,” Derek replies slowly. “Yeah, it does.”

“ _Guess you got lucky then,_ ” Stiles laughs. “ _Know how many therapists I went through before I got one that even half way helped? Four._ ”

“Huh.”

“ _I was, uh, kind of a handful when I was younger_.”

“You’re still a handful,” Derek tells him.

“ _Yeah, and you’re a goddamn riot._ ”

“I am sorry you know. That I didn’t tell you. That we’re this far apart. That you can’t trust me because of that.”

“ _I do trust you,_ ” Stiles says, sounding affronted. “ _When did I say I don’t trust you?_ ”

“When you thought I was cheating on you. Pretty clear what you think.”

“ _I trust you,_ ” Stiles repeats. “ _I just – sometimes I get worried, OK? That you’ll come to your senses any minute and realize you’re making a huge mistake with me. That there’s about a million other people out there who’s better for you. Nearer to you. Your age. Basically someone who isn’t me._ ”

“Stop talking,” Derek says, as kindly as he can manage. “I want you. No one else. Doesn’t matter where I am. So just shut up, OK?”

Stiles laughs a little at that. “ _God, I miss you._ ”

“Miss you too.”

They talk for a little longer before Stiles starts grumbling about having to run errands for his father, errands he’d forgotten all about while he’d been busy with his Google mission. He promises to call back later that evening and rings off repeatedly telling Derek how much he loves him and apologizing again.

**:::**

From Stiles – 21:03  
 _you ever watch porn? x_

Derek frowns down at his phone, wondering where exactly Stiles is going with this. He suspects it’s probably not an appropriate conversation to be having while he’s having dinner with Cora and Nessa, an early goodbye to Nessa because she’s going to Argentina on Saturday and won’t be around next week when he leaves for Beacon Hills.

To Stiles – 21:06  
not often. Should I be afraid to ask why? x

From Stiles – 21:07  
 _well I’m watching some right now and im kind of curious about something_

To Stiles – 21:10  
would telling you that I’m eating dinner with Cora and a friend stop you being curious?

From Stiles – 21:13  
 _that’s supposed to deter me? man, its like you don’t even know me! :))_

From Stiles – 21:14  
 _do you think it’s possible? when guys in porn cum without their dicks being touched?_

From Stiles – 21:16  
 _when you come back in june, we need to try that._

From Stiles – 21:19  
 _why so silent?_

To Stiles – 21:25  
thinking about June

From Stiles – 21:26  
 _yeah? :))_

From Stiles – 21:26  
 _Im gonna write a list_

To Stiles – 21:30  
a list?

From Stiles – 21:32  
 _of all the things we’re going to do when you come visit me_

To Stiles – 21:34  
I’d ask but like I said, out for dinner.

From Stiles – 21:35  
 _don’t ask yet, it needs work. enjoy your dinner & tell Cora hi from me xxx_

From Stiles – 21:35  
 _love you btw!_

He’s in the middle of texting Stiles back when Cora kicks him sharply in the shin, pulling a face and telling him to knock it off. He hurriedly shoves his cell back into his jacket pocket before grabbing a pierogi from the plate in from of him and chewing industriously, trying to think about anything besides the list Stiles may or may not be writing right now.

**:::**

Cora snorts at him when she sticks her head around his bedroom door to wave an envelope at him.

“You leave in two days, how are you still not packed?”

“Yeah, because I’ve got so much stuff to pack,” Derek huffs as he takes the letter from her. “Robin came by earlier to drop something off for you,” He adds, shooing her from his room and tearing open the envelope.

Derek smiles as he refolds the letter and puts it back into it’s envelope, a warm flush spreading across his cheeks as he does so. As fun as a letter full of things Stiles wants to try in bed might have been, he definitely prefers this, even if it does make him feel a little weird and undeserving of the praise.

He gets off the bed to add this newest letter to the shoebox full of letters he’s received from Stiles, and after a moment’s thought, grabs a notebook out of one of his half packed boxes and sits down to write a list for Stiles. He’s not going to post it, figures he can give it to Stiles in person in a few days time.

**:::**

It’s only the night before he goes, after he and Cora have come back from dinner with their small group of mutual friends that he voices something that’s been bothering him ever since he decided to move back home.

“Got a minute?” He asks as he knocks on Cora’s door and peers around it. She’s sitting in the middle of her bed applying nail polish to her fingers and nods when she finally looks up at him.

“What’s up now?”

“What do you mean now?”

She fixes him with a knowing look before screwing the cap back onto her bottle of polish and setting it down on the bed. “Talk.”

“Do you think I’m making a mistake? Going home?”

“That depends. What are you really worrying about? Going back to Beacon Hills or that you and Stiles won’t work out once you’re back?” Cora asks.

“I wasn’t talking about –”

“Yeah, you are. You’re always talking about Stiles. Literally everything you say is about Stiles in some capacity. So come on, which is it?”

“I’m not moving back because of Stiles,” Derek huffs. “I mean, he’s not the only reason I’m going back.”

“No, but he’s what you’re worrying about.”

“I’ve spent less than two weeks with him since we – since we told each other how we feel about each other,” Derek says stiltedly as he sits down heavily at the foot of Cora’s bed, leaning back against the footboard. “What if we only work out because we’re not together most of the time?”

“And what if you don’t? What if it’s even better when you’re there all the time and you get to see him whenever you want? You can’t spend your whole life not doing things just in case they _might_ go wrong. And also, you and Stiles? Pretty sure you’re meant to be.” She uncrosses her leg and kicks him gently in the thigh, smiling softly when he looks up at her. “Stop worrying about it. He’s totally in to you. It’ll be fine. It’ll be better than fine. I promise.”

“I hope so.”

“Good. Now go away.”

Derek laughs shortly at that and glances over at the bedpost; one of Laura’s old scarves is still tied around it. He reaches over and grabs it, letting it run between his fingers while he wonders what sort of advice Laura would be giving him about Stiles, whether she’d even like him. He’s fairly certain she wouldn’t approve of him moving back to Beacon Hills on his own, but then if she were still here, he wouldn’t be craving the command of an alpha, would probably have never met Scott and Stiles, might never have found Cora again.

“Can I talk to you about something else?” He says suddenly, without really meaning to.

“Do you have to?” Cora asks with an over the top sigh as she flops back against her pillows.

“It’s about the fire,” Derek replies quietly, his gaze flicking to her as she inhales sharply and sits up. “But if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“Do you want to?”

“Honestly? No. But I think I need to. I think – I think there’s some things I need to tell you.”

Cora nods seriously, hugging her knees against her chest as she watches him expectantly.

**:::**

It’s late by the time he finally gets to bed, his eyes sore and slightly puffy from crying. Telling Cora about the fire, about how it was his fault, was something Jeph had suggested a few weeks back. As he lies down on top of the covers, replaying the events of the last few hours in his head, it occurs to him that it was a pretty cowardly move waiting until the night before he was due to leave to talk to Cora about it.

Only, it turns out, Cora already knows. Because Laura had worked most of it out and written it all down her diaries; the same diaries Cora had spent months poring over.

The worst part for Derek is that she doesn’t blame him for any of it, and from what she’s read, Laura never blamed him either. Instead she had just hugged him, albeit slightly awkwardly, and let him tell her everything in his own time.

“Why are you OK with any this?” He’d asked flatly, staring down at the floorboards the whole time because it was easier than looking at Cora. “It was my fault. They’re dead because of me.”

“No, they’re dead because hunters are all fucking scum,” Cora had replied. “Doesn’t matter if they claim to stick to their little honor code, they’re still scum. _She_ was clearly even more fucked up that the rest of them. I remember what you were like you know, after Paige.” She had said her name softly, as if she was worried Derek might cry again. “Everyone treated me like I was too young to understand what had happened, but I knew. And I knew how much it changed you. No wonder that bitch was able to do what she did.”

“But –”

“Don’t,” Cora had snapped, cutting him off. “You can keep telling yourself it was your fault, but you’re literally the only person who thinks that. I don’t think it was your fault. Lau didn’t. So just please stop it. Stop blaming yourself.”

When he hadn’t said anything else, she’d just given his hand a small squeeze and smiled at him when he’d made his excuses to escape back to his own bedroom.

Cora knowing, and finding out that Laura knew too, still leaves him feeling guilty, but there’s something else there now, behind the guilt, a little flicker of hope that maybe he really isn’t completely to blame for what happened.

**:::**

It feels strange, packing the last box of his belongings into his car, half listening to Cora and Robin shouting down at him from the fire escape. For all he’s never really considered the apartment in New York home, the thought leaving it after these last six months makes him a little sad. He’s mostly just grateful that he doesn’t feel sad about leaving Cora; he’s going to miss her, regardless of how little time she spent in the apartment over the last few months, but knows she’s happier here than she ever would have been if they’d stayed in Beacon Hills.

Slamming the car door, he locks up and heads back up to the apartment, twisting his key off it’s ring as he gets to the open door. That does make him sad, because it’s been there on his key ring ever since he and Laura first moved in over three years ago and it looks oddly empty without it.

“All done?” Cora asks, leaning back on her hands and sticking her head through the open window. Derek nods as he sits down on the arm of the couch, waiting for Cora and Robin to come back into the apartment.

“Here,” He mutters, holding his key out to Robin as she passes him.

“You don’t want to keep it? I can make a copy of Cor’s if you do?”

Derek shakes his head and presses it into the palm of her hand. Giving up the key means finally making a clean break from New York and his old life here. It feels a lot like saying goodbye to Laura as well; she picked the apartment after all, picked Brooklyn, picked everything for them really, until she died. At least going back to Beacon Hills means he’ll be physically close to her again, and to the rest of their family. One day, he might even be able to get past the cemetery gates to see their graves.

“Can you stay a little longer?” Cora asks as she leans on the back of the couch. “Or do you need to leave straight away?”

“Don’t need to,” Derek replies, twisting around to look at her. “But I’ve got at least forty hours of driving to do, so I need to leave soon.”

“I’m going to run down to the store,” Robin announces suddenly, getting to her feet and crossing to the door, giving Derek’s arm a quick squeeze on her way past. “If you’re not here when I get back, have a safe drive.”

Derek nods at her and lapses into silence as the door closes behind her, watching Cora as she picks at the back of the couch.

“I’ll miss you,” She says softly, glancing up at him and smiling.

Derek returns her smile and gets up, fighting down a feeling of awkwardness as he holds his arms out to hug her. “You hugged me last night,” He points out when she screws up her nose at him.

“Yeah, because you were crying,” Cora teases, rolling her eyes but stepping out from behind the couch anyway and letting him wrap his arms around her. “Big dork.”

“Shut up.”

Cora laughs at that, squeezing him tightly before pulling away from him.

“You’ll text me, right? When you get there?”

“Of course I will,” Derek replies, giving in to the sudden urge to tousle her hair and smirking at the affronted look she gives him.

“You’re such a dick,” Cora tease as she gives him a shove towards the door. “Get out of my apartment!”

Derek huffs quietly at that and tousles her hair once more before grabbing his last bag and lifting it onto his shoulder. Cora follows him down to the street, padding down the damp steps and perching on the railing outside their building as he throws his bag onto the passenger seat of the car. He doesn’t want to hang around for much longer, wants to get out of the city before the afternoon traffic starts to build up, and quickly says one last goodbye to Cora before getting into the car and pulling away.

He glances in his rear view as he reaches the end of the street and sees her still standing barefoot on the wet sidewalk, her arm wrapped around Robin’s shoulders as they both wave at his car.

It reassures him, knowing that she’s got good friends in the city. She’ll definitely be OK without him.

**:::**

His drive back across country is largely uneventful; several long days broken up by stays in forgettable motels. He finds himself buying junky little gifts for Stiles every time he stops for gas; souvenir key rings for no name little towns and cheap plastic toys Stiles will probably claim to be tacky but will secretly love.

His new apartment won’t be ready until Friday morning, so he ends up taking a more scenic, meandering route across the country, deliberately driving through as many states as possible as he goes. The hardest part is keeping up the pretence to Stiles that he’s still in New York and not being able to text him about all the crazy and interesting things he sees on the way.

The signs for various roadside attractions make him smile, reminding him of the book Stiles convinced him to read, and plant a seed of an idea in his head that maybe sometime in the future, he’ll get to take a road trip with Stiles to see all these crazy places. It’s a silly little thought, but it keeps him going when his drive takes a serious turn for the boring and monotonous somewhere around the Nebraska/Wyoming border.

**:::**

He eventually rolls into Beacon Hills around noon and drives the long way around to his new apartment building, because he doesn’t trust himself to drive past the high school and be able to keep going knowing that that’s where Stiles is currently.

The new apartment is reassuringly bland, and unlike the loft, doesn’t look like bad things have ever happened in it. He prowls around the rooms for a little while, thankful that none of them really seem to smell of anyone else; that was always the one thing he hated when he and Laura were moving from apartment to apartment, the smell of other people lingering in the carpets and walls. It’s why he chose such a new block, so he could avoid exactly that.

He makes a half hearted attempt at unpacking his stuff, but gives up after a couple of boxes because he can’t concentrate on anything other than how Stiles might react when he finds out that he’s back. Looking through the box of photos Robb gave him as a leaving present doesn't help either, and in the end, he finds himself pacing around the rooms simply for something to do.

By two o’clock, he’s back in his car and heading towards the high school, because if he walks around his lounge one more time, he might go insane.

**:::**

He starts to feel nervous as he glances at the clock on the dash for the hundredth time in twenty minutes. He’s not really sure why he got to the school so early; it had just seemed easier than sitting in his new apartment staring at his phone every thirty seconds. In the end, he gets out of the car and goes to lean against the hood, glancing over at where the Jeep is parked in the next row. At least Stiles won’t be able to miss him when he does get out of school; he’ll have to walk straight past him to get to his Jeep.

The bell ringing makes him start and he looks up suddenly as students start to leave the school building, trying to pick Stiles’ heartbeat out of the crowd.

It’s less than five minutes before he appears, on his own, his head bowed as he digs around in his backpack, presumably for his car keys. Derek doesn’t say anything, just waits for Stiles to look up and notice him. He hears the way Stiles’ heart skips when he does finally spot him, frowning when Stiles freezes where he is standing, gaping at Derek across the tarmac.

To Derek’s immense relief, Scott appears behind Stiles a few seconds later, grinning widely when he spots Derek and clapping Stiles on the shoulder as he pries Stiles’ keys from his hand.

“If your Dad asks,” Scott says, leaning forward so he’s close to Stiles’ ear. “You’re staying at my place tonight. I’ll drive your Jeep back. Now go.” He punctuates his last words by shoving Stiles forward gently with a nod in Derek’s direction.

“That’s your car,” Is the first thing Stiles says as he comes to stand in front of Derek and points over his shoulder at the RAV.

“Yep.”

“Does that mean you drove here? You didn’t catch a flight?”

“I drove. I’m – I’ve come back,” Derek says quietly, holding his hand out to Stiles, relaxing when he gingerly takes it. “I’m back.”

“For good?”

Derek nods, grunting when Stiles throws himself at him, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck, his forehead pressed against the side of his throat. “I’m back.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just fists his hands in the back of Stiles’ shirt and pulls him as close as possible.

It’s a long time before they break apart and climb into the car, Stiles staring openly at him for the entire drive back to Derek’s apartment.

**:::**

“This place is nice,” Stiles comments as he looks around the lounge. He’s refused to let go of Derek’s hand since they got out of the car, like he thinks Derek is going to disappear if he does. “Like really nice. I had this idea that maybe you weren’t capable of living in nice places.”

Derek huffs, taking advantage of his grip on Stiles’ hand to pull him down onto the couch. It’s a shitty couch. It looks good, sure, but it’s definitely not comfortable. He misses the couch in New York.

“Hey,” Stiles grins stupidly, leaning into his side and blinking up at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

Stiles’ expression goes serious and he nods, twisting around until he’s facing Derek. There’s a weird tension between them all of a sudden, like they’ve never been here before, like it’s the first time. Stiles’ lips are dry and chapped and feel like absolute heaven to Derek as he feels Stiles move his hand to cup his jaw, his fingers lightly stroking at his stubble.

“Don’t mean to offend you and your fancy new apartment,” Stiles murmurs when he pulls away after a long while. “But this couch is not even vaguely comfortable.”

Derek nods in agreement, and gets to his feet, holding out a hand so he can pull Stiles up before leading him through to the bedroom.

**:::**

“I don’t have, um, anything,” Derek mutters when Stiles grabs hold of him and starts sliding down the zipper of his hoodie. “I didn’t think –”

“Don’t want sex,” Stiles replies as he nips at Derek’s bottom lip, pulling away as he works Derek’s hoodie off his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides. “Well that’s not true, I do, but not right now. I just – just take your clothes off and get into bed, OK?”

Derek laughs at that, darting forward to give Stiles a quick peck on the cheek before flicking open the button of Stiles’ fly before he can stop him. They undress each other in fits and starts, hindered somewhat because Derek doesn’t want to have to stop kissing Stiles at any point. He freezes when he hears Stiles’ sharp inhalation as he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“You stopped waxing,” Stiles murmurs, stepping into his personal space and running his hand over his chest. It feels weird, the way his fingers brush the hair backwards and he has to stop himself from batting Stiles’ hand away as he continues to gently touch his chest. “Because of what I said?”

“Maybe,” Derek says with a shrug, finally getting too uncomfortable and grabbing hold of Stiles’ hand. “I guess you were right, that I should stop letting _her_ keep controlling my life.”

“As long as you’re doing it for you, not because of me,” Stiles replies as he ducks his head and presses a quick kiss against Derek’s chest before spinning on his heel and clambering up the bed, patting the space beside him as he waggles his eyebrows.

“Can it be a little of both?” Derek asks as he pulls the covers down and sits beside Stiles. “Will your Dad buy it that you’re staying at Scott’s?”

“Already has,” Stiles replies as he wriggles under the blankets and punches the pillows into a more comfortable position. “I text him when we were in the car. We’re all good, now stop looking at me and hug me.”

“Bossy little shit.”

“That’s why you love me.”

Derek snorts at that but lies down anyway, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him closer so he can bury his nose against the side of his neck and breath in his scent. That somehow makes the fifty odd hours he spent driving to get here worthwhile.

It’s a little like the first night they ever spent together, back when he and Cora visited in January, only a hundred or so times better, because there’s no shyness between them anymore; Stiles is happily pressing kisses against his shoulder as his fingers skate lightly across Derek’s stomach.

It’s exactly what he’d been hoping for.

**:::**

It’s dark outside when he wakes, confused and disorientated for a moment as he tries to work out where he is. It doesn’t take long to come back to him and he smiles into the darkness as Stiles shifts slightly in his arms. He disentangles himself from Stiles and reaches over to trace lines between a little trio of moles on his shoulder.

“Tickles,” Stiles mumbles after a few minutes, his voice rough with sleep as he makes a feeble attempt to bat Derek’s hand away.

“Sorry.” He stops what he’s doing but doesn’t remove his hand from Stiles’ arm.

“S’all good.”

As Derek watches, Stiles yawns hugely and opens his eyes, smiling softly when he sees Derek looking at him.

“You’re really back,” He murmurs, huffing and screwing up his nose when Derek closes the gap between them and trails kisses along the curve of his eyebrow. “Stop that.”

“No.”

He wraps his arms more tightly around Stiles, grinning against his skin when Stiles makes an indignant noise and tries to push him off, continuing to press fleeting kisses all over his face.

“You are back for good, right?” Stiles asks when Derek finally relaxes his grip on him.

“For now,” Derek replies with a shrug. “While you’re here. And I guess while I’ve got an alpha here.”

“Works for me,” Stiles says with a grin before reaching out and curling his hand around the back of Derek’s neck so he can pull him in for a kiss. It goes on for a long time, and they only break apart when Stiles’ hand starts wandering down towards the waistband of Derek’s underwear and he pulls away with an apologetic grin. He drops his head onto Derek’s shoulder, and starts musing about how tomorrow is Saturday and all the things they could do now Derek’s back in town. Now he’s home.

Derek’s not really paying attention to what he’s actually saying, and is quite content to just continue to lie here stroking at the impossibly soft patch of hair behind Stiles’ ear. Stiles seems determined to cram as many activities as physically possible into the next two days, but really, it doesn’t matter. He’s back now and he doesn’t plan on leaving again for a long time.

**~fin~**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://the-misfortune-teller.tumblr.com) where I mainly reblog pictures of Tyler Hoechlin, moan about my crappy life and fail to reply to asks in a timely fashion.
> 
>  _Warning Stuff_  
>  I know Jennifer Blake and whether the sex she and Derek had is kind of a divisive issue in the fandom; I personally believe, from watching that scene in 306, that it wasn’t and that’s reflected in this fic in the discussion that Derek has with his friend Anton where they acknowledge that Derek was raped by Jennifer. I’d be really grateful that if you don’t happen to agree with that particular opinion, that you address it with me on tumblr rather than on here. Thanks :)
> 
>  _Headcanon Notes_  
>  I've alluded to Derek and Cora having an older brother in this fic - Joseph. Before Cora was introduced, I always liked the idea that Derek was the youngest of his immediate family which I then had to adapt, thanks to Jeff! I love Cora though, so it wasn't hard to change my idea of their family structure around a little bit and can so easily imagine Derek being a pissy little six year when he finds out he's not the baby anymore!
> 
> I also have this head canon that before the fire, Peter had a wife and child, and that his wife died when his daughter was only a baby. Again, this headcanon was all from before the whole “you’re not only an uncle” in 3b, but because that is daft and at the time of writing this, we still don’t know for definite who Peter’s child is, I’m choosing to ignore it!


End file.
